TUPENNY BLUES

 

By Paul Diamond

 

           

            “How much?” Marnie’s scream shook the walls of their tiny antique shop

 

            “Er - sixty five quid.” Sid mumbled, as if saying it quietly would make it

sound less.

 

“You paid sixty five quid for a black marble clock?  You’re off your head. 

Who brought it in?”

 

“That Mrs. Consett.”

 

“Oh well.  That explains it.  Big boobs and a pelmet for a skirt and your

brains drop into your bleedin’ boxer shorts.  You styoopid old man.”

 

Sid looked sheepish as his wife continued to glare at him.

 

“I’m going shopping.  I need some money.”  She snapped.

 

He reached in his pocket and pulled a couple of twenty pound notes from a

wad held together by a silver clip.  Marnie snatched them from him and stormed

out of the shop slamming the door behind her.  Sid sighed, sucked at his grey

toothbrush moustache, picked up the heavy clock and carried it into the workroom

at the back.  A key was sorted out and drops of clock oil applied with a fine brush. 

He wound it carefully and set the pendulum swinging.  There was a healthy tick

and the main spring was intact.  He wound the striker spring and set the minute

hand to twelve o clock.  The clock struck four and after a second’s pause struck

five.  The bell sounded muffled too.

 

Sid peered inside the back.  There was something interfering with the

notched wheel which controlled the striker mechanism.  It seemed to be coming

from inside the dome of the bell.  He unscrewed it and found a small packet

wrapped in waterproof paper stuffed behind it.  Opened it revealed a block of eight

first issue twopenny blue stamps, mint and in perfect condition with the head of the

young Queen Victoria as bright and clear as it had been when they were printed in

1840.

 

He was looking at a fortune.  Perhaps hundreds of grand.  It was the big

tickle.  The antique dealer’s dream.  They must be hidden away until he could

decide what to do with them.  If he sent them to auction the tax would be

enormous.  How could he sell them privately?  He would ’phone Stanley Gibbons

and get some idea of the value.  The shop bell rang.  He looked for somewhere to

hide the stamps temporarily.  Rolling  them into a tube he slid them into the spout

of the teapot of the Doulton tea set he had bought in that morning: only twenties

but quite pretty with one chipped cup that he must strop up.

 

            It was Mrs. Consett: she of the big boobs and the micro miniskirt.  She

smiled at him wanly.

 

“Oh Mr. Perks, that clock I sold you, I’m terribly sorry.  I thought I was

clearing out some unwanted rubbish and that clock doesn’t work.  It’s

been in the attic for years gathering dust.  My husband says it belonged to

his great grandmother and it’s a family heirloom.  He’s very upset.  Can I

possibly buy it back from you?”

 

Sid thought quickly.  “I’m sorry Mrs. Consett.  I’ve already taken a deposit

on it.  It’s virtually sold.”

 

Tears flooded the woman’s big blue eyes.  She put her head on one side in

appeal.  “Suppose I pay you more for it so that you can give the other person

back their deposit.  How much did you sell it for?”

 

Sid thought quickly.  He couldn’t quote too high a price or it would seem as

if he had swindled her.  ninety would do.

 

            “Well - er - ninety pounds”

 

            “If I give you a hundred and twenty would that be all right?”

 

            “Well yes, I suppose so.”

 

She counted out six twenties while he went for the clock.

 

“Here’s a key.”  he said.  “I think you’ll find it works quite well.”

 

She put the clock in a canvas holdall and hurried from the shop barging in to

a young woman who came in, looked round suspiciously, and carefully unwrapped

four tiny liqueur glasses engraved with a key pattern.

 

“How much will you give me for these?” she asked.  They’re very old,  They

belonged to my great grandmother.”

 

“I’m sorry my love.”   Sid was being avuncular.  “Great grandma bought

these in Woolworth’s in about nineteen thirty eight,  They’re no use to me.”

 

The woman scowled and began wrapping the glasses again.  Sid wished she

would hurry up.  Since ‘Going for a Song’ and ‘The Antiques Road Show’ the

private punters thought that everything more than fifty years old was worth a

fortune.  They dreamed of appearing on the tele while an expert said ‘D’you have

any idea of the value?  Well the last one went for ten thousand pounds.’  They even

practised the modest smile they would assume while swearing that this piece of

family history would never be sold. 

 

At last the woman left and Sid was about to return to his stamps when a

burly man in a well cut business suit came rushing in.

 

“All right.  Where is it?” he demanded.

 

“Where’s what?”

 

“The packet from the back of the clock.”

 

This must be Mr. Consett, beneficiary  of the big boobs and provider of miniskirts.

 

“What packet?  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Sid looked the

picture of outraged innocence.

 

“There was a package in waterproof paper hidden behind the bell of that

clock my wife sold you.  Where is it?”

 

“I’ve told you.  I don’t know anything about it.  I only had the thing for half

an hour.  If anything’s missing ask your wife where it is.”

 

The man paused, almost convinced.  “The bitch.  She must have known they

were there.  That’s why she pretended to sell it to you.”

 

“Known what was where?” asked Sid innocently.  But the man had already

run out of the shop.

 

Sid still could not get to the back room.  Perks Antiques had never been so

busy.  A fat man in a camel hair coat strolled in.  Ginger Marks was from the better

end of town with a shop that was slightly up market from Sid’s.  He was still called

Ginger although the few hairs he had left were grey.

 

“Got anything for me?” he puffed through a fat cigar.

 

“There’s a few new things.  Have a look round.”

 

The fat man picked up a set of silver plated condiments, looked at the price

ticket and put them down again.  A pair of cased silver and mother ’o pearl fish

servers were more interesting.

 

“What can you do on these Sid?”

 

“A ton?”

 

“Make it ninety.”

 

“Ninety five.”

 

Ginger stuffed the case into his pocket and blew out a stream of cigar smoke

as Marnie came back to the shop carrying two heavy shopping bags.  She went into

the back room and came out again.

 

“Where’s the clock ?”

 

“Sold it.”

 

“How much?” she mouthed at him.

 

“Eighty five.” he mouthed back.

 

She pursed her lips.  Sid had justified his purchase from big boobs.  She

could no longer use it to make him feel guilty.  She returned to the back room. 

Ginger Marks was still peering at some porcelain in a china cabinet.

 

“Is that Meissen?” he asked, pointing to a cup and saucer.

 

“No.  It’s a Sampson copy.”

 

“Show us.”

 

Ginger looked at the cup carefully then gently bit round the edge with his teeth.

“Restored” he said and put it back in the cabinet.

 

Marnie came in bearing a lacquer  tray.  “Cup of tea Mr. Marks?”  She put

the tray down.  “I like this Doulton tea set Sid.  I’m keeping it for us.”

 

The tea pot stood steaming on the tray.  Sid went white.  Marnie frowned.

“What’s the matter with you?  It’s a perfectly good tea set.  I washed the

teapot out with soda and boiling water like you showed me.  It’s quite clean.”

 

The words went spinning round in Sid’s head.  “It’s quite clean, quite clean, quite clean.”

 

Marnie could not understand what was up with Sid.  ‘What fiddle has he

been up to now?’ she wondered.  Whatever it was obviously it hadn’t worked.  No

doubt she’d find out in good time.

 

Anyway she was more concerned with the roll of blue Victorian stamps

which had fallen out of the teapot spout when she picked it up to wash it; the

stamps now hidden in her underwear drawer upstairs.  They must be worth a bit. 

She would pop in to the library when she went shopping the next day and look them

up in the catalogue.  Meanwhile she turned to Ginger Marks with an ingratiating

smile.  “Jaffa cake Mr. Marks?”                                         

 

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