Mimi and the Blue Slave

by Catherine Bateson

  I believed her although, if I had to be truthful, I’d love to have picked a puppy from a pet shop. A white fluffy thing with a little black nose and bright eyes full of love, not sadness and hope in equal measures.

  When we got back to the shop at about three o’clock it was still open. Mum was wearing lipstick and she was on the phone. She waved us through to the kitchen but I stood in the middle room for a minute, eavesdropping.

  ‘Sure, Guy. No, I’m feeling a little better, but not up to the auction. Not yet. Everyone will – you know, I’ll feel they’re letting things go to me. That’s fine, too, people do what they have to do, but later. Mimi’ll go. It’ll be good. I trust you both.’

  So Guy had rung and we were going to the auctions. That cheered me up. I could wear my new clothes. Mum was wearing lipstick, too. That had to be a good sign.

  Edie and I made afternoon tea and Mum sat at the table with us. Even though she only nibbled at the edges of her coffee walnut cake, she said it was delicious, had two cups of tea, pronounced my top and scarf perfect and Edie’s leather jacket and T-shirt trendy in a retro way, and tied the red scarf around her hair. She also said Aunty Ann had rung and that she had rung Aunty Marita. So it had been a good day, Mum said, before she went back upstairs.

  After she’d gone Edie showed me how to make a salad dressing, which she left in the fridge, and how to shred the chicken she’d cooked into the salad.

  ‘It’ll be a change from takeaway,’ she said. ‘I’ll drop in again soon, Mimi. We’ll try the RSPCA again, too. I’ll buy extra large tissues for us next time, okay?’

  I waved her car off and went back up to my room feeling more cheerful than I had in days. I was going to do the school essay. I was going to write about my dad because talking about him in a strange way brought him back to life again. I sat down at my desk and turned a new page in my exercise book. My Family and, in particular, My Dad I wrote as my heading.

  I wrote for ages about how we lived above a shop and Dad fixed things in the shed and how he’d known everyone in the street and always had some money to give old Sam. I wrote about the way he walked along the beach singing sea shanties and how Mum and I both missed him. He was big and bold in my writing, the way he had been in life – a big full-sail ship with Mum and I tugging behind him. He was exactly what he’d been on the best of days.

  In the end, the dog found us. As Dad said, sometimes you have to wait for the fates to take notice of you.

  I was excited about the auction. I’d told Angel – and Fergus – all about it and managed to sound as though I went all the time, but truthfully I hadn’t been for ages and then I’d been scared the whole time that I’d do something – scratch my nose, or push my hair back behind my ears – that the auctioneer would take as a bid. I was terrified I’d buy something hideous and expensive by accident that we could never sell. Bidding was a complicated thing and lots of people didn’t want to be noticed doing it. It took sharp eyes, sometimes, to see where a bid was coming from. Dad had pointed out a woman who simply fanned herself with her number slip whenever she wanted to make a bid. There was another guy who raised his finger to his eye, as though there was something irritating it.

  It’ll be fine, Ableth said. He was lounging around cleaning his fingernails. Remember that all those broken bits of china can hide the real treasure. An antique dealer is a bit of a pirate, my queen, so you’ll do just fine.

  Guy arrived in time to have a cup of tea with Mum. She was wearing lipstick again and had even put in earrings. She didn’t say much, but she listened as Guy talked and managed a smile every so often.

  ‘She seems a little better,’ Guy said when we got in the car.

  ‘I think she is,’ I said cautiously. ‘She’s answering calls from the aunties.’

  ‘That’s a good sign. Now let me brief you on this auction, Mimi – and a bit about the business.’

  I sat up straighter. I was a real partner, being briefed!

  ‘This is a good auction,’ Guy said, ‘partly an estate of an old bird who had a good eye. There’s some stuff here that would do well in your shop. Now the thing with auctions is that you have to have an eye on your market. You’re lucky – you’ve got a mixed bag where you are. So, at this auction, there’s a gold chain, seed pearls, probably twenties. That would be good for your old ladies – there’ll be one of them that wants something a bit special, a bit classic for a granddaughter one day. Then there’s a Scandinavian coffee pot – clean, sophisticated. Very collectable. That’ll be for your professional couple. Lots of them in the area now. They like something with a bit of class that’s still useful. Something that tells people who they are. Or think they should be.’

  ‘Wow. It’s a bit complicated, Guy. Do you have to think like this at every auction?’

  ‘That’s why I’m still in the business, despite two busted marriages!’ Guy said cheerfully. ‘Let me tell you something, Mimi. You buy for the market, but you leave a little space for something for you. You mightn’t keep it, but you buy it for your taste. You develop your own areas. Your dad’s was furniture. To do that properly you need a lot of space but he did pretty well considering.’

  ‘So do you have a specialty?’ I’d seen Guy’s market stall. It was a hotchpotch of stuff – the kind of stall that convinces people they’ll find a real bargain one day.

  ‘I started with Nouveau – beautiful stuff. Tiffany, Fabergé – not that I could afford those boys. But I got some good pieces. Class coming out of its arse, nouveau. The eau de Nil got my first wife down. She moved in with our butcher and I went into the fifties. Brash and optimistic. Got a new shop. Then my second wife left – backpacking in Nepal. Fell in love with a mountain. Not her fault. Now I’m a bit of a bower bird.’

  I didn’t really understand what Guy was talking about but it was interesting hearing that he had had two wives. I hadn’t known that.

  ‘So what about Mum? Does she have a specialty?’

  Guy paused before he spoke. ‘At one time she was collecting women designers,’ he said. ‘That was before you were born, when your dad and mum were renting. She sold them up for the deposit on the shop. Since then – no, I think she was just busy with you.’

  The auction was in a big warehouse. Even though there was only a concrete floor, there were display cabinets scattered around full of jewellery and the more expensive things. The place was already filling up with people and Guy moved through the crowd, air kissing and shaking hands. People I didn’t really know patted me on the head or told me how much I looked like my mother. I was glad I’d put on my new skinny jeans and a bit of lip gloss.

  ‘Teaching her the trade already?’ It was Miriam, from the funeral. ‘A sorcerer’s apprentice?’

  ‘Miriam! Good to see you. How’s the hip?’

  ‘Good enough. What have you got your eye on, Mimi?’

  ‘Go and look at the jewellery with Miriam,’ Guy said, ‘while I get us both a hot drink. Miriam’s a jewellery expert – she can teach you more than I can.’

  ‘Which piece do you like best?’ Miriam asked me, leading me to a big cabinet. She wore the long amber necklace again, still swinging as she moved, her fingers were covered in gold rings and several bracelets chinked up and down her arms.

  I looked at all the jewellery. Most of it was old and ugly. I could see the gold chain Guy had mentioned, but it was a bit boring. There were some plain gold bars with little stones glinting in them and a big, black pendant on a heavy chain. I didn’t like anything, but I didn’t want to say that. Then I saw a little silver chain with two arcs of silver and a small pearl nestling between them. It looked like angel wings.

  ‘I like that,’ I said pointing.

  ‘Ah, the marcasite. Making a comeback, marcasite. It’s a nice piece, Mimi. Might be difficult to sell because it’s really for a girl and most girls want modern stuff – silly, but there you are. Let me te
ll you about the other things.’

  The more she told me, the more she made the other things interesting even though I still thought they were ugly. For example, the big black pendant was a mourning locket – and twisted inside it we’d find a lock of ancient hair. There was a gold bar that had been made on the goldfields – it was ugly, Miriam said with a little curl of her mouth, but it’d fetch a good price. She also pointed out a little silver rattle and showed me the baby-teeth marks that had been made in the soft silver. Then she took me back to Guy, who had bought us all hot drinks.

  ‘She’s got an eye for marcasite,’ Miriam said, sipping her coffee. ‘We’ll have to tell Crane. Look – there he is with those damn dogs of his.’

  I saw a tall man with a small goatee with two dogs on leads. The littler dog was on its back, rolling on the floor, while the bigger one sat neatly at the man’s feet.

  ‘Come on, we’ll introduce you,’ Guy said.

  Crane bent down to shake my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mimi. Marcasite, eh? There’s been a resurgence. Modern stuff – geckos and so forth. The genuine article with a gemstone – that’s what I like. Yes, please pat the dogs! That one is Audrey – she’s a tart but a polite one – and that’s her wild daughter.’

  ‘I thought you got rid of that litter,’ Miriam said, moving her long velvet skirt out of the puppy’s way.

  ‘All except this one. I simply have to find a home for her. The body corp said one, not two. God. I’ve sold my soul to the body corp. Do you know they’re seriously thinking of preventing us from hanging towels and other sundries out on the balconies. Can you believe that?’

  I looked at the puppy. She looked back at me. Her belly was pale pink with dark spots. She had soft, floppy brown ears, long white fur with pale tan blotches and a waggy, curly tail. Her pink tongue lolled out as she smiled at me.

  ‘Do you need a home for her?’ I said it really quickly in case someone else had heard him.

  ‘Darling!’ Crane looked down at me. ‘Can you take her?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I can. It’s the fates!’

  ‘Would your mother permit you?’

  ‘We’re looking for a dog because this boy went into our shed and Edie said that sometimes even a dog barking – even a little dog barking – would put intruders off and anyway, we need a shop dog to make Mum smile again because they’ve done studies and Edie said even fish helped. But I don’t want fish, I want her.’ I pointed to the dog who was now lying on my feet, licking my shoes.

  Crane looked at Guy. ‘Lou has stopped smiling?’ he asked and his voice was grave.

  ‘Temporarily.’

  ‘My God. That’s terrible. Should we all be doing something. A whip-around?’

  ‘It’s not money, Crane. It’s grief.’

  ‘What can we do about that? Is there anything?’

  ‘Time,’ Guy said. ‘I think she’s getting better.’

  ‘Darling Lou. Such a beauty. Dear Mimi, you need the dog. I haven’t been able to name her myself. Once you name them that’s the end. You can’t bear to part with them then. But her mother is Audrey – after Hepburn, you know?’

  I nodded. Mum had made me watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  ‘Her father was something tan. That’s really all I know. Audrey’s a Westie, of course. Wrong name for a Westie. Really should have called her something more ... more earthy, not so ethereal. Good little dogs. This one’s nearly house-trained – what a drama that was! All yours.’ And he handed me the lead, just like that.

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly, darling. Take her before I change my mind. Not that I can – the body corp. But I’ll maintain visiting rights.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘of course.’ I held the lead tightly.

  Guy laughed. ‘Look at you,’ he said, ‘you look as though you’ve won a million dollars. Well, Crane, even if Lou’s not smiling, her daughter certainly is!’

  ‘What will you call her?’ Miriam asked me, still keeping her distance.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. I want a really good name.’

  ‘Yes. She’d better have a good name,’ Crane said, ‘she’s been you bloody thing for nearly six months. She’s had all her shots. I’d better be fair and tell you she was the runt of the litter. That’s why I haven’t got rid of her. She got sick, too. Well, runts, what do you expect. Anyway, she’s fine now.’

  ‘I love her,’ I said. ‘I’ll love her forever, Crane. Thank you so much.’

  ‘I should thank you,’ he said and let his hand rest on the top of my head for a minute. ‘Oh dear. Half an hour left. Must look at the boxes!’

  ‘We’d better look too,’ Guy said. ‘We’ll start on the far side, Crane. Pass you in the middle.’

  Lining the back wall were trestle tables with cartons on them.

  ‘Most of these are junk,’ Guy poked through some tatty old books – none of them interesting – and picked out a jug. ‘See – chipped.’ He put it back. ‘We’ll check them together, Mimi. Can you handle that and the dog?’

  The puppy was content to sit on my feet while I stood next to Guy and helped. I was scared I’d miss something, but I examined everything as carefully as I could. I’d done about five boxes when I found the Christmas decorations. At first I thought they were just Christmas decorations – cheap, throwaway things. Then I had a closer look. They were actually quite beautiful, a whole set in a box – and not tree ornaments but light bulbs, beautifully painted.

  ‘Guy! Look at these.’

  ‘Well spotted, Mimi. Early 1950s Japanese milk glass Christmas light bulbs.’

  ‘Can we get them?’

  ‘We’ll certainly make a bid. What’s that underneath them?’

  ‘Ornaments. Look at the little reindeer. Oh, they’d be fantastic on a tree in the shop window. Would the light bulbs still work?’

  ‘I doubt it, but some might. You can make them into tree ornaments – see, you’d just tie a thread around the stem there. People collect them.’

  ‘They’re lovely. Look at this one – it’s a cat playing a guitar – or something.’

  ‘A mandolin,’ Guy said holding the little white cat up and peering at it. ‘They’re in great condition. The paint’s not peeling at all.’

  ‘Look.’ I pulled out another set of four ornaments. ‘Oh, they’re just plastic.’

  ‘They’re spinners,’ Guy said. ‘Probably from the fifties. Look at the sparkly confetti, Mimi. When the heat of Christmas lights hits them, the confetti spins. They’re not bad.’

  ‘Not as good as the glass ones,’ I said. ‘Look at this little lantern. It’s so pretty!’

  ‘Okay – we’ll mark this box on our catalogue and hope that no one else takes a fancy to it,’ Guy said. ‘How much would you be willing to pay for it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I hoped Guy wasn’t seriously asking me. Surely he was just testing me? How much were the lights worth? I didn’t even know how much normal Christmas ornaments were worth – Mum always bought them. She bought them after Christmas, too, when they were all half price. ‘Twenty dollars?’

  Guy huffed. ‘These are collectors’ items, Mimi,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’d pay fifty for this box and think I came off very well!’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, nodding so hard that the puppy bounced off my foot and stretched up on her hind legs to lick my hand reassuringly.

  The rest of the night went in a blur. I tried to concentrate on what was happening but the auctioneer spoke so fast and I was also trying to keep as still as I could so he knew I wasn’t bidding for anything. That was hard, because I had the puppy on my lap and she was squirmy. Guy did a whispered running commentary, too, on the sales and the bidders, and that confused me. Every so often he’d stop and I knew he was bidding on something.

  I only knew that he’d won when the auctioneer brought dow
n his hammer: ‘Done. To Number 54.’ Then I’d feel Guy relax and he’d mark the figure next to the number on his catalogue – a fancy name for a stapled-together bunch of paper, I thought. When he stopped bidding he’d start his comments up again.

  ‘Hilary, that’s Hil – Asian stuff. Imports. Don’t know why she wants that mustard cruet. Must be on behalf of someone. That big bloke knows all there is to know about Victorian art. Did a degree in it. Also jewellery and books. He and Miriam might be battling for that mourning locket. Did you see it?’

  ‘It was ugly.’

  ‘I’m with you, but Miriam loves that stuff.’

  I was only worried about the box of Christmas ornaments. The mixed boxes were the last things auctioned. By then I was sleepy and the puppy was snoring quietly in my lap.

  ‘Which is our box?’ The fear of not getting it drove away my tiredness.

  ‘Lot 167,’ Guy said. ‘It’s three after this one. But I wouldn’t mind getting the next one as well.’

  I tried to pay close attention to the bidding on Lot 167.

  ‘Let’s start, Lot 167 – box of sundries including some Christmas ornaments. What am I given to start. Come on, I know you all want to go home to bed. So do I. The wife’s waiting. Five dollars, anyone? Lovely Christmas decorations – and we all know that Christmas is just around the corner. These would grace any tree, aren’t I right? Hold them up Sandy.’

  His assistant held them up and I held my breath.

  ‘Five dollars, then.’

  I peered around. It was a woman who was now inspecting her fingernails. Good. She didn’t look too interested.

  ‘Five dollars, five dollars. That’s a start. Anyone give me seven-fifty. These aren’t any old Christmas decorations – there are some nice glass ones in this lot. Mint condition. Seven-fifty at the back. Ten in the middle. Twelve-fifty anyone? Twelve-fifty it is. Fifteen!’

  It went so quickly. I couldn’t really tell how much we were bidding or who was against us. I’d thought at the start we’d be getting a complete bargain. The bidding, though, went on and on and then it was just the woman who had started and Guy left and although it was easier to work out what was going on, I could hardly bear the suspense.