into kitchen drawers, the shoebox in the cupboard under the stairs on which she’d nicely stencilled Bits ’n’ Bobs. No stapler. And then she wondered if she had a stapler of her own, whether the one she’d been using for the last few years had been Tim’s all along and, as such, would have been in a drawer or box at his place bearing a Post-it note saying LEAVE. Momentarily she thought back to those strange dark days of moving out – how, when she’d come to remove her belongings, she’d read those Post-its as notices hounding her to go, rather than marking the items of his which were to stay.
She locked up again and gave herself a quiet talking-to. All of that was last year, remember, and, after Candy’s talk the other night, Vita decided to perform a mental sidestep any time she felt her mind drift off to time gone by, or Tim Gone – Bye! as she was calling it, emblazoning it on Post-its.
Stapler. She needed a stapler before going to London. She went via the shop and left a note for Jodie who’d be opening up in a couple of hours. It was still early.
Jodie – don’t hesitate to call if there’s a prob. I have borrowed one of the caterpillar staplers – have taken a red one as they’re the least popular. Good luck and enjoy, Vita.
PS: Tim says no discounts for friends and family. Sorry.
* * *
Alexandra Palace; that Victorian pantheon of glass domes and grand halls and giant potted palms, straddling an elevated position with far-reaching views over parkland, over the ladders of streets crawling up and down Haringey like zips, to London beyond. The radio mast, rocket-like, proclaiming this place a summit and, as the plaque attests, an apotheosis of communication, with the BBC’s first public television transmissions made from here in 1936. Vita loved the view. She’d never lived in London, had no desire to and hadn’t spent much time there at all but she’d been to this part a few times and when she stood outside the Palace (she’d heard other people call it Ally Pally but she liked to call it the Palace) and soaked in the view, she felt a surge of excitement. Yonder lies my capital city!
The trade show was humming already. The stands were colourful and varied and at odds with the standardized cubicles provided. Most had bowls of sweets, or free biros or useless fluffy things to give away. The scent of stewed coffee and batches of slightly dried-out croissants permeated. Vita couldn’t remember the last time she’d been at a show. And this one was very large and she was suddenly looking forward to her day very much indeed.
‘The beauty of these – Mouse in a House, Ted in a Bed, Mole in a Hole – is that it’s a collection, of course.’ Rick Edwards looked at Vita levelly. ‘Kids love them – and parents do too, because it makes buying birthday presents for other kids so easy.’
‘I see,’ said Vita, wanting to order loads of each but trying to sound like Tim.
‘Look at this little fellow: Dog in a Clog. Isn’t he a superstar?’
‘Adorable,’ said Vita. And then she cleared her throat and said, ‘Interesting.’
‘I did ask the manufacturer if they’d consider Ants in Pants.’
‘I like that,’ said Vita.
‘I was joking – Mrs?’
‘Vita.’
‘Mrs Vita.’
‘No – Vita – Whitbury. Miss.’
‘Richard Edwards. Rick.’ They shook hands. ‘Here.’ He gave her the small plastic house whose hinged roof revealed an open-plan living area with fixed plastic furniture and a small, removable mouse.
‘Thank you!’ Vita inspected it. ‘I will think about it.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Rick said, ‘you love it! How many can I put you down for? Buy at the show and they’ll be in your shop by the weekend. If you’re not reordering by early next week, I’ll give you your next batch at fifty per cent off.’
This made a lot of sense to Vita. She thought, This is the way that Tim does business, surely. She felt slightly flushed, she’d only been in the show for an hour or so and had taken lots of cards and information, using her stapler often.
‘Miss Vita,’ Rick said sternly, ‘you look concerned.’
‘I should pass this by my – business partner.’
‘Bring them over!’
‘He’s not here.’
‘Not here?’ Rick baulked and Vita suddenly thought how Tim was really more of an investor than a partner.
She looked at Rick, she liked his open smile, his dark eyes which were looking at her enquiringly. She liked the way he had a Mole in a Hole in one hand, and a Ted in a Bed in the other. ‘OK,’ she said.
‘Good girl,’ he said and she liked that, she liked it because actually, he looked a fair bit younger than her. He rattled off unit prices and discount bundles and she nodded carefully and tried to do mental maths.
‘I’ll start with ten of each.’
Rick shook his head. ‘That won’t see you through Saturday.’
She wasn’t sure what increments she should advance with. ‘Twenty?’
‘Good.’
‘But I want a good price.’
‘It’s an excellent price,’ said Rick, ‘with my special guarantee too.’
‘I wanted a better price still,’ said Vita, getting into a stride she didn’t know she had. ‘Times are hard – pocket money is frozen.’
Rick laughed loudly. ‘Miss Vita – you’re a horror. OK.’ He thought about it. ‘I’ll give you twenty-five of each. How’s that.’
‘That is – acceptable.’ It was difficult for Vita not to laugh at herself and the incongruous sound of her chosen words and businesslike tone.
‘Lovely,’ Rick was saying, filling out an order form. ‘Sign.’
She signed. And only then did she read back through the order. Yes. Yes. Yes. He’d even written down his guarantee. And under that, she suddenly saw he’d written something else. ‘Payment on ordering. Delivery conditional on drinks after the show this evening.’ She read it again.
‘I can pay now,’ she said, with the company cheque book in her hand. ‘I can’t do the drinks, though. I’m not staying over.’
‘I can’t deliver, then.’
She was startled but he was smiling that unnerving, open, attractive smile. Lovely teeth. ‘I have to get back tonight.’
‘Husband?’
‘No – but—’
‘Boyf?’
‘No. No. It’s just—’
‘Cat? Dog? Mouse in your house?’
‘No!
