Part 22 (1/2)

'Salsa!'

Gwen dropped her pen. 'Pardon?'

'She likes salsa dancing. She told me.' A fine mist of spittle accompanied his excitement.

'Perfect,' Gwen said, leaning back a little. 'What colour's her hair?'

'Black. Like mine.'

Gwen privately hoped, for the mystery girl's sake, that it wasn't too much like his. She selected a 1950s hair slide, jewelled with s.h.i.+ny black stones and sprouting a vibrant red flower and a bow of black and white polka-dot ribbon. She held it up. 'For when she's dancing.'

'Can you wrap it?'

'Sure.' Gwen folded the turquoise tissue paper, slipping in her 'thank you for your purchase' card amongst the layers, and tying the parcel with silver twine.

The guy had his parcel and he had his change, but still he hesitated.

'Was there something else?'

'Will it work?' he said in a rush. 'Will it make her like me?'

'It's a nice gift. I'm sure she'll like it.'

'I need her to start liking me really, really quick. That's why I came to you.'

'It's just a hair slide,' Gwen said slowly. 'It's not magic.'

'Okay.' He was nodding fast now, and starting to look a little crazy. 'You can't talk about it. That's cool. I get it.'

'Excuse me?' A woman in a green raincoat was pointing at a cake stand made out of vintage crockery and gla.s.sware. 'Can I buy that plate?'

'Not just the plate, I'm afraid; it's all stuck together. It's a cake stand.'

'Oh.' The woman looked inordinately p.i.s.sed off.

'I have other plates,' Gwen began, but the woman had already gone.

Gwen sold a clown figurine that she'd been wis.h.i.+ng she'd never picked up and a watercolour snow scene in a blue frame, then a girl and her mother paused to browse. The girl had a sheet of fine light brown hair that fell in a curtain, obscuring her face. Her mother was berating her in a carrying whisper. 'Where's your scrunchie? You look like a r.e.t.a.r.d.'

The girl jerked as if an electric current had pa.s.sed through her, then her shoulders hunched.

'How much is this?' The mother picked up an onyx paperweight, hefting it in one hand, as if considering it as a weapon.

'Five pounds,' Gwen said, resisting the urge to disarm the woman.

'And what does it do?'

Gwen blinked. 'It's a paperweight.' Sat.u.r.day in Pendleford was obviously the day for double-dose crazy.

'Yes, but-' the woman leaned across the trestle table and lowered her voice 'what does it do?'

Gwen leaned forward and lowered her voice to match. 'It. Weighs. Paper. Down.'

The woman straightened, but kept up eye contact in a disturbingly focused way. 'I need something that will give her-' she jerked her head in her daughter's direction 'confidence. She's too shy. She'll never get on in life if she doesn't snap out of it.'

'I'm not sure that a paperweight is going to do the trick.'

'Okay. What then? I thought I had to pick up the first thing that caught my eye.'

'I'm sorry?'

'That's what I heard. Am I wrong? Do you choose? Or are certain things good for particular problems? Like, I don't know, earrings for better hearing.'

'I'm sorry,' Gwen managed. 'I'm really not sure-'

'It's for my daughter.' The woman had lost patience now, and was looking increasingly angry.

Struggling for safer ground, Gwen addressed the girl. 'Do you want to choose something, honey?'

'That makes sense,' the woman said, making none herself. She prodded the girl. 'Abigail, do as the lady says.'

A sliver of pink face appeared from behind the hair curtain and Gwen gave it an encouraging smile. 'What kind of thing would you like? Something to wear? Something for your room?'

Abigail opened her mouth, but her mother was already speaking. 'There's no point asking her. She's too shy to speak to strangers.'

The girl's head was turned to the left and Gwen looked too, trying to guess what she was after. There was a 1920s necklace tree, draped with costume jewellery, a pile of silk scarves and handkerchiefs, and a variety of flowery china. 'Do you like bright colours?'

The girl shrugged, but her hand had reached out and was touching a long necklace of multi-coloured gla.s.s beads. 'You can try that on, if you like. I've got a mirror.' She reached down and picked up the looking gla.s.s she kept for just such occasions.

'She won't wear that. She only likes black and grey. Drab things so she won't get noticed.' Gwen was royally fed up with the mother's voice and she'd only been enduring it for five minutes. G.o.d alone knew how Abigail coped. 'Like it would kill her to wear something light for once. Maybe a pastel blue or a nice lemon.'

Gwen saw Abigail's eyes close and her heart went out to her. 'How about something for your room? No one has to see it unless you want them to, then.'

Abigail nodded, so tightly and quickly Gwen almost didn't catch it. 'May I look at that?' The girl's voice was quiet but steady. It was lower than Gwen expected too, and she rea.s.sessed the girl's age. Abigail was pointing to a stripy crochet blanket Gwen had finished only the night before. 'It's handmade, but it's not vintage,' she said, handing it over. Abigail all but s.n.a.t.c.hed the blanket and held it close.

'A blanket? How old are you?'

'It's a throw,' Abigail said. 'For my bed. I like it.'

'Fine.' Her mother expelled a big sigh, as if the girl had demanded crack cocaine. 'On your own head be it.' She turned to Gwen. 'This had better work.'

Gwen took the money, wrapped the blanket and said goodbye, all the while trying to decide if she was morally obligated to explain to the woman that the blanket wasn't magical; it didn't fly or anything.

By half three, the crowd had thinned considerably. The clouds had lowered, bringing a premature twilight and layer of damp to the proceedings. No one browsed in bad weather and she'd had a good day, so Gwen began to pack up.

'Quitting?' Mary-Anne from next door raised her eyebrows. 'I never leave early. I always convince myself that I'll miss the biggest sale of the day. Are you coming next month?'