She insisted on paying for a fill of diesel for the van, for any coffees or drinks they may need and for lunch, as well as buying breakfast before their 8 a.m. start – a couple of Ulster fries and a pot of slightly over-stewed tea from the local greasy spoon, which they ate in relative silence – both of them still a little bleary-eyed.
Noah declined Libby’s offer to work a few hours in the pub to pay him back in some way, which, to be honest, she was glad of because her previous, very limited, experience behind a bar had not been successful. She still cringed when she thought of the disaster she’d made of pouring a pint of Guinness.
As they set off, Noah was the one to break the ice. ‘I had a look at that catalogue online. There are some great pieces; I might get a wee something myself for the flat, you know.’
Libby nodded. ‘Where is it you live?’
He glanced over, a little bemused. ‘We live in the flat upstairs above the pub. Directly opposite you, as it happens. I can see right into your front windows from the living room.’
If Libby thought she’d hidden the look of mild horror on her face, she was wrong.
‘You’ve no need to worry, Libby. I’m not a peeping Tom or anything. I hope you’re not one either.’
Flustered, Libby started to protest her innocence until Noah burst out laughing.
‘I’m only teasing you,’ he said. ‘Jo says my dodgy sense of humour will get me in trouble one of these days.’
‘Jo’s a nice girl,’ Libby said.
‘She’s the best,’ Noah said with a smile. ‘She’s my best friend, you know. I’m lucky to have her.’
A little pang of regret or sorrow hit Libby. Neither she nor Ant would ever say the other was their best friend.
She had taken a few days to think about their situation, just as Jess had urged her, but, if anything, it had only made it clearer in her mind that her relationship with Ant had run its natural course. The lack of a ‘good luck’ message, or even a ‘how are you?’ text from him that morning had solidified those feelings further.
To try and push down the emotions rising up in her, she just nodded and reached into her handbag to take out the bag of brandy balls boiled sweets (best before date unknown) which Harry had pressed into her hand that morning. She popped one in her mouth and offered one to Noah.
‘Harry said we had to have sucky sweets for a long journey in the car,’ she told Noah with a smile. ‘He said it would stop the car sickness. He then gave me chapter and verse on which sweets had saved his car when his sons were younger and not at all great travellers. Brandy balls, barley sugar and Everton mints are the best ones apparently.’
Noah took a sweet and smiled. ‘Barley sugars remind me of being sick as a child. My mum used to force them and Lucozade into us if we were ill, as if they had the same healing powers as an intravenous antibiotic drip.’
He popped his sweet in his mouth and Libby laughed. ‘God, Lucozade was the cure-all, wasn’t it? And you only ever got it when you were sick.’
Noah nodded. ‘And now people drink it just for the craic!’ He laughed and Libby laughed too.
‘Harry’s a character though, isn’t he?’ Libby said. She’d already grown fond of Harry and his harmless rants.
‘He’s the best,’ Noah said. ‘Part of the furniture. He’s been a part of Ivy Lane for as long as I can remember.’
‘You’ve been there long, then?’
‘Not with the pub. I only took that over a few years ago. But, yeah, I grew up close by. My grandparents used to live on the Lane. They minded me after school, so I spent a lot of time there. I’ve a great fondness for the place. I suppose that’s why I took the chance at the pub when I got it. Made me feel a little closer to them.’
Feeling a lump in her throat – one that had absolutely nothing to do with boiled sweets – Libby nodded. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said, when she could speak without fear of it coming out in a strangled sob – then she kept her eyes firmly on the passing fields and hedgerows. ‘My grandad always dreamed of opening a bookshop one day, but he never had the confidence, or maybe the means, to do it. The shop is kind of my tribute to him. He gave me a great love for reading.’
‘He sounds like a good man.’
‘He is. Well, he was. He passed away two years ago,’ she said, still focused on the fields they passed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Noah said quietly.
‘Thanks,’ she replied and they fell into what was, this time at least, a companionable silence. After a while, Noah reached over and put the radio on and both of them spent most of the remaining journey deep in thought about the people in their lives they had loved and lost.
* * *
Once they arrived at the vintage market, the mood in the car changed. Noah seemed to have switched into peak mansplaining mode, which, on another day, might have annoyed Libby. This time, however, she felt amused at how excited he got explaining the auction process to her, and showing her what the other sellers had on offer.
He delighted in telling her she should never offer the ticket price on an item, and that she should never, under any circumstances, look too interested, because the vendors would take full advantage of her vulnerability. ‘You want to do this for as little money as possible,’ he said, ‘because whatever you think this project of yours is going to cost, you might as well add at least twenty per cent on as a contingency – one that will be eaten up quickly. There will be something you’ve not thought of, trust me. So keep your cool.’
Libby reminded herself he was trying to be helpful and not necessarily a condescending arse. She also reminded herself that her twenty per cent contingency had already been eaten in to and she’d take whatever advice she could get to stop it disappearing altogether.
She was impressed when he produced a notebook and pen and eyed up what was available with the appearance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and what he was looking at. He took notes and measurements and thoroughly inspected the pieces for any signs of wear and tear. He was exceptionally thorough.
He gave her a thumbs up when he spotted an ercol desk that had not been listed on the auction catalogue and which was going for an absolute steal. While normally a vintage ercol would sell for anywhere between four and six hundred pounds. This one was a bargainous three hundred and fifty pounds.
‘I think you should take it,’ he said. ‘The auction price won’t go as low as that.’
She could see other people starting to sniff around, so she nodded to Noah. ‘Yes, I think I should take it too.’
‘Do you want me to do the talking?’ Noah asked, as they approached a rather elderly and aloof-looking gentleman, complete with neckerchief and tweed jacket. His nose hair was as bushy as the hair on his head.
‘Have I lost the power of my own voice?’ she answered, with a cheeky smile and a confidence in her ability to haggle that was very much not based on past experience. During a holiday to Morocco, she’d been the only one in her party to pay more than the seller in the souk was looking for.
‘I’m not trying to offend you,’ Noah said. ‘It’s just I know men like this,’ he whispered. ‘We’d all like to think the world isn’t a sexist place and that women are treated as equals, but it’s not true. Men like him – old-school – converse better with other men. I’m not saying I agree with it, but if you want what you want…’ He left the question hanging there, and Libby chewed her lip and tried to weigh up whether to sacrifice both her sense of pride and her feminist principles for the sake of a perfect-condition ercol desk at a bargain price.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
She watched as Noah was majestic in his negotiations. It seemed he could charm the birds from the trees, the knickers from a nun and an ercol desk from a sexist gentleman with a further ten per cent discount. She could have thrown her arms around him and kissed him. A thought which caught her by surprise.
‘Get a grip,’ she whispered to herself. This was just the result of an adrenaline surge. Sh
e didn’t really want to kiss Noah. That was Jo’s job. And Jess would kill her. And for all the good it did her, she still had a boyfriend. And, on top of all that, she absolutely and categorically did not fancy him. At all.
That she’d had the momentary lack of judgement to even consider it alarmed Libby so much she was determined that the next purchase would be entirely down to her and her alone. She suggested to Noah that they split for a while and meet again before the auction started.
He nodded and said he wanted to check out some records and music memorabilia that was on sale. Libby breathed out a sigh of relief as she watched him nonchalantly walk across the hall towards the smaller stands.
Libby stayed with the furniture and was drawn to an exceptionally stylish woman dressed in a pair of black capri pants and a red wrap-around blouse. Her glossy dark hair was styled in victory rolls, held back with a red scarf, and her make-up was very much the fifties bombshell look – winged eyeliner and red lipstick. With a pair of leopard-print pumps completing her look, this seller embodied vintage and Libby was sure she would share her dream of creating a vintage-inspired writing space in her shop. She also wanted to ask her how she got her eyeliner so perfect.
Having a look around the items on offer, Libby’s heart quickened a little to see an upcycled desk. It had an air of Mad Men meets shabby chic about it that made her want it desperately for the shop. She immediately imagined an author, smiling, holding an award in their hand at a swish ceremony, recounting how they had written the most inspired passages of their magnum opus sat at a quaint desk in the creative environment of the bookshop on Ivy Lane.
‘You like it?’ a female voice said, shaking Libby from her daydream.
‘I do. Very much. I love it.’ Libby cringed a little. She had absolutely zero chill and she was already breaking one of Noah’s rules – she was not supposed to come across as overly keen.
The seller smiled. ‘I love it too. I’ll be sorry to see it go, to be honest. It’s a really splendid piece too – not just some old tat attacked with chalk paint. You’re buying quality when you buy from me. Are you buying for yourself?’ she asked, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
‘Well, yes and no. I’m buying for a shop I’m opening.’
‘I don’t do trade,’ the woman bristled. ‘I mean my pieces are priced for sale, not to be put in another shop and sold on. I’m not in a position to drop the price any.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to sell it,’ Libby said. ‘It’s a bookshop I’m opening and I’m creating a few writing nooks so that authors can work there.’
‘Oh, well that sounds exquisite,’ the seller said, outstretching her hand. ‘I’m Stella – let’s see if we can find you what you need. Have you thought of lamps or lighting? I have some great pieces – could really set the scene. And chairs…’
Libby shook Stella’s hand and introduced herself. She was delighted when Stella gestured for her to follow her to the back of the warehouse to see a number of ‘unique pieces’.
‘I don’t put these out with the other things,’ Stella said with a smile. ‘They’re only for special people. It’s hard to get quality pieces, but I can sense you’re the kind of person who likes quality. I mean you could get repro stuff fairly easily, but I find it’s often not worth the money you spend on it. Buy cheap, buy twice, that’s what I say. You want to make your shop the best it can be, I can tell that about you. Not afraid to pay for quality.’
Libby gave a half-hearted nod. Yes, she wasn’t necessarily afraid to pay for quality – but she just didn’t always have the money to pay for quality. She was starting to feel a little in over her head.
‘Well, I do have a budget,’ she said meekly.
Stella laughed, shooed the very notion away with a, ‘Sure, we all have budgets. But, in my opinion, they are made to be broken for the right pieces. The worst thing you can do is see something you love, forsake it because of a few quid, and then live to regret it the rest of your days. Trust me, when you do that, every time you look at the space you hoped to fill, you’ll feel that pang that you missed out on the one thing that could have made it just perfect.’
Libby felt a thin film of sweat break on her forehead. She was a people-pleaser – found it hard to say no to people anyway, never mind people who told her that she would regret saying no to them for the rest of her life.
‘Ah, here – look,’ Stella said, ‘I knew I had these. Now, they’ve not been upcycled – just refurbed. A new coat of varnish, the leather refitted. But they are great pieces – comfortable.’ She was standing in front of two swivel captain’s chairs – exactly the kind Libby could imagine in the shop.
Libby reached out and touched them even though there was a little voice deep down that told her that no good could come of this. Genuine antique captain’s chairs were not within her budget – no matter how much she desired them. In fact, when she spotted the price tag, they were absolutely so far outside the budget, they could only wave from far away – where the fresh varnishy smell could not be smelled nor the soft leather stroked.
‘And I have these lamps as well,’ Stella said, gesturing to a collection of desk lamps that almost made Libby weep at their beauty. Beaten copper, exposed bulbs – the kind of lamps that would look perfect with the exposed brickwork and deep green paint she had planned.
‘And how much do they cost?’ Libby asked, looking around to see if Noah was close by – ready to swoop in with his negotiating skills.
Stella moved her head around a little, pursed her lips, looked at the lamps, the chairs and no doubt considered the desk she also had her eye on.
‘Best price?’ she asked.
‘If you could?’ Libby asked, hoping that Stella would see a like-minded businesswoman in her and would offer her a deal she couldn’t resist in the name of the business sisterhood.
‘You would be cutting my profits to almost nothing,’ she said, ‘but I like the sound of what you’re doing – love that you’re into vintage. If you took the desk, two of the chairs, and say two lamps?’
‘Three lamps,’ Libby said.
‘Well,’ Stella smiled brightly, ‘£1,600 and it’s all yours.’
Libby was pretty sure her face was so frozen in shock that there was a danger that it would stay that way forever. At least, she thought, she was smiling. It was in a slightly maniacal way, but it was a smile all the same.
‘Is there any wiggle room?’ Libby eventually asked, hoping for maybe somewhere between £600 and £800 worth of wriggle room.
‘It really is my best price,’ Stella said. ‘And I do have interest in these pieces, so, you know, I would be doing myself out of a profit if I let you have them for any cheaper. I suppose you have to ask yourself if you want to miss out.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to miss out,’ Libby said and was just opening her mouth to say that she didn’t have much choice, when Stella jumped into the void of noise left by Libby’s intake of breath.
‘Great, brilliant. Let me go and get the invoice book. You’ll be taking these with you today? Paying in cash? Great,’ Stella said, leaving Libby standing, open-mouthed, on the verge of cardiac arrest and angry with herself that she had ever, ever doubted Noah and his negotiating skills.
13
Dr Faustus
‘Libby! There you are!’ Noah’s voice boomed. ‘I was looking for you. The auction’s about to start.’
So now, not only had she got herself into a bit of a mess, she would have the pleasure of Noah witnessing the final, heartbreaking transaction, in which she would hand over twice the money she had been hoping to spend. She’d have to make savings elsewhere. She wondered, did she really need food, or heat for the new flat?
‘Your girlfriend has been making some very astute purchases.’ Stella smiled as she approached with her invoice book, and pen at the ready.
Libby opened her mouth to correct her about the nature of her relationship with Noah, but before she could so much as inhale, Noah had his arm around her shoulders a
nd was kissing the top of her head. ‘Have you, honey? The thing is, I was just talking to Keith – over there by the door – and he has some old shelving units, you know the exact kind we were looking for, that he’s willing to give us for a steal. He just agreed to hold them until I came over to see how the budget was holding out.’
‘Erm… well, the thing is… honey, Stella has some great pieces – pricey, you know, but good.’ She looked up at him, eyes pleading, hoping he would understand that she did indeed need his help.
‘I’ll show you,’ Stella said. ‘I’m sure you will agree your girlfriend has amazing taste.’
‘Oh, I already know she has amazing taste,’ Noah said, pulling Libby closer, squeezing her tightly towards him. ‘Sure, she chose me.’
Libby played along, even if internally she was cringing.
Noah released his grip and followed Stella to look at the desk, chairs and lamps.
‘All genuine,’ Stella said. ‘I know your girlfriend doesn’t mind going the extra mile for quality.’
‘Well,’ Noah said, a perfectly pleasant smile on his face, ‘it does kind of depend on just how much of an extra mile it is. You know, we can all get carried away sometimes. Especially with pieces as beautiful as these. They really are exquisite.’
Stella beamed.
‘So, how much are we talking?’ Noah said, smile still fixed.
‘£1,600 is my absolute best price,’ Stella said, and if Libby wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight wobble to her voice.
Noah sucked in a breath through his teeth and crossed his arms while looking the pieces up and down. ‘Seems a bit steep,’ he said.
‘Not overpriced for pieces of this quality. I mean, they are sturdy, authentic – not to mention they’ve been treated and upcycled. They are good to go for years to come – it would be hard to buy better,’ Stella replied, her voice a little brittle now.
The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn Page 10