by Sharon Owens
‘I know,’ Ruby said thoughtfully.
‘Will we change the subject now?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Yes, please,’ Ruby smiled.
‘And just one more thing. Can I please put a few baubles and things up around the shop? Not too much, don’t worry. Just a few Christmas bits and trinkets? Just to set the tone for all the party frocks and so on?’
‘Yes, okay,’ Ruby said. ‘I think I’ll go upstairs and look over the books for a little while,’ she added sadly, swallowing back her tears. Christmas decorations were a bit of a reminder for her.
‘Okay,’ Jasmine said quietly, pretending not to notice. ‘I’ll give you a shout when I’m finished, yes?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Ruby agreed, making a beeline for the door. She dreaded Christmas Eve coming. But it would come eventually and there was nothing she could do about it.
I’ll go to bed early and I’ll sleep right through it, she told herself as she went up the stairs and into her little flat. I’ll sleep right through it and I’ll be okay. I hope.
10. The First Secret
It was a cold, bright day in mid-December. Ruby’s shop had been open for little over a month, but business had been thankfully brisk. As expected, they were mostly selling coin purses and other glittery trinkets, but they were also building up a respectable clientele of regular customers. And they’d sold a small number of designer dresses and jackets too. Everyone said how lovely the larger fitting room was with its little gilt chair and huge matching mirror propped up against the wall. Not to mention the bowl of fresh white roses on the counter and the fancy carrier bags with their distinctive pink and white stripes, especially the smaller-sized ones that were hopelessly cute. Ruby suspected that some of her regular customers were actually collecting the carrier bags because she noticed they only ever bought one item at a time.
And then something strange happened. Ruby and Jasmine were unpacking a crate of embroidered bedroom slippers from Italy one day when Jasmine noticed a short, dowdy woman dressed in shabby black jeans and a washed-out black sweater. The woman was loitering in a suspicious manner outside on the footpath by the bay window. Jasmine thought the female in question might be forty or slightly older. She had long mousy-brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She seemed to be staring intently at the exquisite velvet handbags that Ruby had made.
‘Trouble at mill?’ Jasmine joked to Ruby, nodding her head in the stranger’s direction. ‘I think we have a nervous shoplifter casing the joint. Or maybe just a nervous shopper.’
‘Well spotted, Jasmine Mulholland,’ Ruby said carefully, grateful that she’d spent a little bit extra on having a new doorbell entry system installed in the shop at the time of the renovations. ‘It could be nothing, but if she rings the bell we’ll be ready for her. Mind you, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt, yeah? She’s hardly going to do an armed robbery on us.’
‘Oh, look out, here she comes,’ Jasmine hissed, and the familiar tinkling chime rang out from a concealed loudspeaker beneath the counter.
Ruby pressed the button, the door opened and the woman stepped gingerly into the shop. The three of them stood smiling at one another for what seemed an age.
‘Can I help you?’ Jasmine offered at last, coming out from behind the counter and approaching the customer in her usual friendly way.
‘Thanks, I, um, I was interested in those handbags you’ve got in the case,’ the woman said in a gentle, whispery voice. ‘The black velvet one with the pink lining, in particular.’
‘That one’s so adorable, isn’t it?’ Jasmine said brightly. ‘A lovely piece, handmade by the owner here.’ She indicated Ruby with a little flourish of her cocktail-ring-bejewelled hand. ‘Shall I fetch it from the display so you can have a closer look?’
‘Would you mind? Only I spied it yesterday and I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. It reminds me of a party dress my grandmother once had. Actually it reminds me of old perfume bottles, and even of my childhood, if that makes any sense?’
‘Does it really? All those memories from one little handbag?’ Jasmine said kindly, suddenly feeling quite sorry for the woman.
‘Yes, thank you. I thought I might treat myself for my birthday. My fortieth birthday. I daresay my darling husband will only remember to get me the usual bunch of droopy carnations from the petrol station,’ the woman said sadly. ‘You know the ones? Going brown at the edges? That’s if he remembers to get me anything at all.’
‘Well, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?’ Ruby said brightly. ‘A lot of men are just too shy or too busy to go to a proper florist, aren’t they?’
‘Yeah, and there’s not always enough parking outside the nicest florists,’ Jasmine added helpfully.
‘Not my husband; he’s just not bothered. In fact he goes out of his way to buy me a bunch of rubbish flowers just so I can’t say he got me nothing. He’s a very clever man, is my husband.’
Jasmine and Ruby exchanged worried glances. Perhaps the poor woman was going to break down and sob in front of them?
‘So, back to the bag,’ Jasmine began. ‘Do you still want to see it?’
‘Yes, please,’ the woman said suddenly.
Jasmine silently unlocked the display case and reverently carried the black handbag over to the counter. Meanwhile, the woman approached and waited patiently to examine it. Jasmine duly opened the ribbon handles to fully reveal the pink satin lining within. This particular handbag didn’t require any hard sell. This particular handbag spoke for itself.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ the woman said in a surprisingly soft voice. She traced one finger along the shimmering satin lining and looked wistfully at it. ‘So beautiful. Handmade, you said? By the owner?’ She glanced at Ruby.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Jasmine said as brightly and as casually as she could. She knew Ruby would blush and Ruby duly obliged her.
‘I see,’ the woman said calmly.
‘It’s a bargain really. It’s from a limited-edition collection,’ Jasmine told her. ‘Ruby O’Neill here is a new designer, based right here in Belfast, and she only makes a small number of each design.’
‘I see.’
‘There are only seven of these particular bags with the velvet outer fabric and the satin lining inside. And the other ones in the range are all made in different colours as you can see. So each bag is unique and will never be repeated. The price is a sheer bargain, as I said before.’
‘Well, well. That all sounds pretty special. Okay then, I’ll take it.’
‘Really?’ Jasmine said.
‘You will?’ Ruby was amazed.
‘Yes, it is my birthday,’ the woman said firmly. ‘And I don’t treat myself very often. In fact I never do. So I might as well make up for lost time today.’ She slipped a credit card out of her jeans pocket and placed it carefully on the counter. Ruby and Jasmine glanced at the name on the card. It said, Mrs M Stone.
‘Yes. That’s me. Mrs Mary Stone.’
Jasmine duly wrapped the precious handbag in several layers of soft white tissue paper before popping it into one of Ruby’s bespoke candy-stripe carriers.
‘Thank you very much indeed,’ Ruby said, smiling widely. She didn’t feel even a slight twinge of regret that the beautiful bag she had made with her own hands was about to leave the shop. It felt okay to see it go to a good home. To someone who might actually appreciate the craftsmanship that had gone into it. Mary Stone might not have been the most glamorous woman in the world, but there was something gentle about her. And Ruby sensed that there was inner turmoil going on that she could easily relate to.
‘Yes, thanks very much,’ Jasmine added. Thinking to herself, You should never judge a book by its cover.
Mary Stone picked up her credit card and her new purchase, turned on her heel and swiftly left the shop.
‘Well, that one didn’t look as if she could afford a new pair of socks, never mind one of the prettiest things we had in the entire shop,�
�� Jasmine said when their unlikely customer had been gone for a few moments. It took both of them that long to get over the emotion of selling the first bag in Ruby’s collection.
‘I know. But she could be an eccentric millionaire,’ Ruby suggested hopefully.
‘Or a writer or a poet or an artist,’ Jasmine agreed.
‘True. Lots of arty types make a point of dressing down… It’s funny but I’ve a feeling we’ll be seeing Mary Stone again… She’ll be back,’ said Ruby thoughtfully.
And in the event Ruby was half right.
For just before closing time the following day a broadly built man with an upturned nose and a disdainful expression on his big red face pressed the doorbell and came barging into Ruby’s shop. Brandishing the one-hundred-pound evening bag and demanding his money back.
‘My wife is suffering from clinical depression!’ he shouted rudely, right into Jasmine’s shocked face. ‘She’s a total bloody basket case! Her nerves are in fucking bits! How dare you take money from someone who is mentally ill!’
‘What? Now, hold on a wee minute, mister! I’m sorry, but your wife had a valid credit card,’ Jasmine replied, glaring right back at him, her hackles clearly raised. ‘If she’s too ill to shop, then she shouldn’t have a credit card in her possession. And I don’t think it’s very nice of you to describe your own wife in such an awful way. No wonder she’s depressed if that’s the way you speak about her behind her back. I suggest you leave the premises before we call the police.’
‘Fuck you! Who the hell do you think you are?’ he growled.
‘Fuck you! Who the hell do you think you are? Shouting your head off like that? And telling us your wife is a basket case? You big git!’ Jasmine said angrily.
‘Shut up, you cheeky bitch!’ he shouted, his free hand making a fist.
Jasmine immediately reached for a pair of scissors from underneath the counter.
‘You shut up or I’ll cut the tongue out of your head, you big ugly fucker!’ Jasmine roared back. The man looked momentarily shocked into submission. ‘Go on and fuck off!’ Jasmine added finally.
Ruby feared Jasmine was going to snip off the man’s expensive-looking tie. Or maybe even his tongue like she’d already suggested.
‘Jasmine, I’ll handle this, thank you very much,’ Ruby interjected quickly. ‘Is there a problem with the handbag, sir?’
‘Too right there is, you pair of idiots! You bloody crooks! My stupid wife was robbed in this shop and I want that money back or I’m going to a solicitor.’
‘Show me the bag,’ Ruby said quietly and she took it from his clenched-up hands. ‘Now I’m sorry to tell you this, but the handle has been damaged since it was sold. Look here.’ She showed him the spot where the stitching had been torn loose.
‘Claim it back on your insurance,’ he barked.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ruby said firmly.
‘It was already damaged when that useless bitch brought it home yesterday,’ the man accused.
‘Mr Stone, I presume? You really must calm down,’ Ruby began, but Jasmine beat her to it.
‘No deal, Mr Stone. This bag was not damaged in any way. I wrapped it up myself,’ Jasmine said loudly, her hand hovering above the telephone. ‘And we have proof actually. Because we took photographs of the displays, that very same morning! Now I think you’d better leave. You can’t just walk in here and threaten us. I’m not married to you and neither is this woman here. Thank Christ!’
‘You’ll be sorry you spoke to me like that,’ he said in a low voice.
‘I am very sorry, Mr Stone,’ Ruby said gently, ‘but this handbag was definitely not sold to your wife in that condition. And I’m not going to commit insurance fraud just because you’ve had some sort of disagreement. I suggest you go home to your wife and apologize for embarrassing her like this. Good day to you.’
By this time the man’s face had turned a livid purple with pure rage, but Ruby wasn’t afraid of him any more. She had faced worse things in life than a pompous bully who was all riled up because his poor doormat of a wife had bought herself a beautiful velvet evening bag. Mary Stone wasn’t mentally ill. Ruby was absolutely convinced of that. She might have been depressed though. And who wouldn’t be? Married to a great ugly oaf like that! But no way was Ruby having her finest work thrust back so rudely into her face.
‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ he thundered as he went storming out the door, slamming it hard and leaving the beautiful handbag behind in Ruby’s trembling hands.
‘What a rotten piece of shit,’ Jasmine spluttered. ‘Trying to involve the pair of us in his crazy marital problems! The money was nothing to do with it. That suit of his was by Armani. He’s just a control freak. Fat ugly pig! Some people are just unbelievable twisters. Who the hell does he think he is?’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Ruby gasped, waving one hand in front of her mouth. ‘That was pretty brutal. We’re lucky he didn’t punch the two of us.’
‘Aye. Mind you, I’d have stabbed him with the scissors if he’d laid a finger on either one of us!’
Ruby went very pale.
‘Are you okay, Ruby?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Yes, just promise me you won’t stab a customer,’ Ruby murmured. ‘Not unless it’s absolutely in self-defence?’
‘Aye, all right… You were great, by the way. It was all I could do not to go for him. What an absolute fuckwit.’
‘Yeah, he was… And that’s another thing, Jasmine. Could you please try not to use the f-word in the shop when we have a customer? Even when it’s an awful customer like him?’
‘Oh, yeah, right. I will.’
‘Thanks. And thanks for sticking up for me.’ Ruby took several deep breaths. ‘I’ll make us some tea, shall I? I think we’ve earned it. And let’s keep this bag close by for when Mary Stone comes back to claim it. I’ll put a few stitches in the handle and it’ll be as good as new. Poor woman! No wonder she looked so browbeaten yesterday! Married to that great slug. Wouldn’t the very thought of him touching you make your skin crawl? Yuck! By the way, if he comes back here don’t let him in.’
‘Too right.’
Three days later, Mary Stone came back to the shop. Still wearing her scruffy jeans and shapeless sweater. But this time sporting the faded remains of a world-class bruise on her left eyelid. And her bottom lip was slightly swollen and cut.
‘I’d like my handbag back, please,’ Mary said, smiling and then wincing as the skin above her left eye crinkled up in pain. ‘And before you ask, yes, my husband did hit me for spending a hundred pounds on a handbag. And, no, I’m not sorry I did it because he spends fifteen thousand pounds a year on football tickets. And, yes, I have left him.’
‘Oh my God,’ Jasmine said, open-mouthed with shock.
‘Good for you,’ Ruby said, producing the black handbag with the pink lining from beneath the counter. ‘I knew you’d be back and I’ve repaired the damage for you. I’m sorry about that… unpleasant… episode with your husband. But we couldn’t refund the money after we saw the bag was damaged.’
‘Yes, that’s fine. He tried to pull it to pieces, but it was too well made. The worst he could do was damage the handle. Thank you very much for keeping it for me,’ Mary said gratefully. ‘I’ve been trying to find the courage to leave that bully for over nine years now. It was this handbag that finally gave me the motivation to do it,’ she said happily, clutching it to her chest. ‘It was so beautiful sitting there in the glass case. And it made me remember that I was beautiful once and that I believed in myself once. And that my life doesn’t have to go on being so miserable any more.’
‘Well done, love,’ Jasmine said, choking back her tears. ‘If you can’t buy yourself a lovely wee handbag after nine years of marriage, it’s a poor enough show.’
‘We’ve been married for twenty years,’ Mary grimaced. ‘But it’s only been really bad for the last nine. I don’t think he ever forgave me for losing my figure or my salary after the childre
n were born. We have five kids.’
Jasmine and Ruby were speechless with righteous anger. They simply couldn’t fathom the logic behind such cruelty. Ruby had always believed that married couples should love each other unconditionally. And once again she pondered the sheer unfairness of losing Jonathan when they’d loved each other so much. They’d not even had one serious argument in all their time together. They’d bickered a bit over little things, surely. But they’d never gone to bed without making up again.
‘Do you think he’ll leave you alone now though?’ Ruby asked tactfully. ‘And us, for that matter? Should we be contacting the police with a request for increased patrols along Ravenhill, or whatever?’
‘I shouldn’t think there’s any need for police protection,’ Mary said, trying hard to smile despite her bruise. ‘I don’t think he’ll be bothering any of us for some time.’
‘Why not?’ Jasmine asked quickly. ‘You haven’t gone and poisoned the vile creep, have you?’
‘Jasmine!’ Ruby scolded. ‘Don’t be outrageous.’
‘It’s okay,’ Mary laughed. ‘Ouch, that hurt! No, I haven’t poisoned him. Though I’ve often felt like it, to tell you the truth. But no. I finally went to the police to tell them about his so-called unreasonable behaviour towards me.’
‘Wow,’ said Jasmine. ‘Well done yourself!’
‘Yeah. When he hit me that day, I just knew it was going to be the last time he would ever touch me. And I also knew I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He’s been arrested. And held overnight as it happens.’
‘Oh, wow again,’ said Jasmine.
‘Not for years of bullying me though. Isn’t it hilarious? They got him for resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. Still, all’s well that ends well. I’ve taken the children and we’re staying in a refuge for battered wives. We’ll be moving to England as soon as I can get things organized. I have some old school pals there who’ll help me to find part-time work and a new place to live. I might even end up working with horses in the countryside or something. I was always great with horses when I was younger. The children would love to live in the countryside, they said.’