my head, and feeling like a party pooper when a crestfallen look appears across her face.
‘Oh come on, who’s to know? And besides, it was a present, so you can do what you like with it,’ she says, skipping through to the bathroom. After flicking the light on she bounces up onto the loo seat and holds the necklace up to the light so she can scrutinise it again. ‘Yes, I’m sure of it. See here …’ She pushes the necklace towards me, pointing to the largest ruby. ‘The colour is so intense,’ she says, knowingly.
‘I’ll have to take your word for it,’ I reply, not ever having owned an expensive piece of jewellery.
‘Aren’t you curious? Oh come on, it’ll be a laugh. We could pop over to Jessop Street – there’re loads of jewellers around that part of town,’ she pleads, and I can’t help smiling at her enthusiasm.
‘Sorry, I can’t. Like I said, I have to return it.’
‘So how come you’ve got it then?’
‘He put it in my bag when I wasn’t looking.’
‘Well there you go … you didn’t accept it so you don’t have to return it.’ She laughs and lets the necklace trickle through her fingers as she drops it back into the box.
*
We’ve been sitting in the little office at the back of the musty old jeweller’s shop for almost twenty minutes.
‘I haven’t seen stones like these for some time. Eastern European, are they?’ The wiry old jeweller lets his loupe fall down from his eye into the palm of his hand before peering back up.
‘Err, I think so.’ I can’t believe I’m even doing this.
‘Yes, it’s from Russia,’ Sam says, nudging me under the table with her thigh, ‘… with love!’ I pull a ‘stop it’ face at her. ‘So what do you think then?’ She fixes her baby-blue eyes on the jeweller’s watery ones. He hunches his scrawny shoulders further over the table.
‘Is it for insurance purposes, or resale?’ Silence follows. The jeweller looks up and I glance at Sam.
‘Nei—’ I start, but Sam nudges my leg again, and with my mouth still open I turn my body towards her.
‘Actually, it’s for insurance,’ Sam says, knowingly. ‘You silly thing,’ she pats my arm, trying to look authentic, ‘you can’t keep it uninsured.’
The jeweller pulls out a little pad and scribbles on it before turning it around to show us. I stare at the figure. Oh my God. I can’t believe it. My pulse quickens.
‘See, I told you didn’t I?’ Sam says, smugly. Then turning back to the jeweller she adds, ‘A generous … err, friend, gave it to her.’
‘Very generous indeed,’ the jeweller replies, eyeing me as I peer again at the figure. Oh my God, what I could do with that money. I quickly shove the thought out of my head and reach across to the box. The jeweller drops the necklace back inside and I close the lid down on it.
‘Thank you for your time, but we really need to get going,’ I say, briskly, before pushing the chair back and shaking the jeweller’s hand. I turn to leave, and Sam follows along behind me.
As soon as we’re outside, Sam is beside herself with glee.
‘Didn’t I tell you? How exciting,’ she says, pulling her sunglasses down over her forehead to protect her face from the dazzling wintry sun. ‘Are you sure about the piranha eyes? I mean, you could always make him close them … if you ever wanted to get jiggy with him.’ She laughs out loud.
‘Yuk. Stop it.’
‘Ohmigod.’ She stops walking and clutches my arm. ‘Imagine what else he might give you … for a Valentine’s present,’ she gushes, and I pull a face.
‘Please just stop it. He’s vile, not my type at all. In any case, I can look after myself,’ I say, a little too abruptly as I remember the glaring total on the spreadsheet, realising the mess I’ve actually made of it so far. My mind is working overtime as I rummage through my shopping tote searching for my sunglasses.
‘Hey, come on. I was only joking,’ Sam replies, placing a hand on my back.
‘I know, and I’m sorry. I’m just a bit tetchy with everything that’s going on at work.’
‘Oh well, plenty more piranhas in the sea … boom boom.’ Sam laughs at her own joke and gently elbows me in the ribs. I slip my arm through hers, and as we head off all I can think of is the figure on the paper. And resale! The word goes over and over in my head like an annoying jingle I can’t evict.
13
‘I knew you’d be back.’
‘Oh. How come?’ I ask, fiddling nervously with my sunglasses as the jeweller holds the shop door open for me.
‘I just know the look. The look when the client realises just how much money they can have instead of a piece of jewellery they’ll probably never wear. From a gentleman friend, was it?’
‘Something like that,’ I mutter.
‘Of course, and may I reassure you that discretion is guaranteed. It happens all the time; they think they know what you like and—’
‘Indeed,’ I say, not wanting to engage him further in the details. I went through the motions with Sam, but it was no use. I have to do something to get my credit file back in order, not just to give myself the best possible chance of keeping my job, but because I can’t take any more sleepless nights worrying about it all. So I left Sam in a quirky boutique over near the market square in the centre of town and made my way back here.
After handing the jeweller the suede box, he quickly slots his loupe into place and gives it another once-over. Satisfied that it’s the same item, he scuttles off out to the back before returning with an A4-size double cheque book.
‘Oh, I, err, was thinking cash?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice even. There’s no way I can put a cheque for such a large amount through my bank account without questions being asked. The whole bank will probably explode in shock, especially after its computer said a massive whopping ‘no’ to extending my overdraft.
‘OK, have to be less for cash, though. And you do realise that the resale figure will be less than the one for insurance purposes. Unless you have the provenance documentation?’ he asks, raising an eager eyebrow.
I shake my head.
‘How much less?’ I ask, wishing I didn’t sound so desperate. He scrawls on the paper again and thrusts it in front of me.
‘But that’s thirty per cent less,’ I state, keeping my voice low and trying to ignore the panic that’s swirling in the pit of my stomach. What the hell was I thinking, coming back here? I hesitate, and clutch the handles of my tote.
‘Look, I could go to twenty-eight per cent less,’ he says, scribbling on the paper before swinging it around to show me. I glance down at the revised figure.
‘How
