‘Latecomer at the back of the room with two-forty.’ He looked to Magpies who gave a brief nod. ‘And two-fifty.’ Back to Darcie. ‘Two-sixty.’ The auctioneer pinged back and forth. The bidding soon reached £320. Then £350, £390.
It was Darcie’s turn to come back with a higher bid.
‘Four hundred,’ she confirmed to the auctioneer before she had time to talk herself out of it.
The bidding was gathering quite a bit of attention from the rest of the room as it now became a spectator sport. The next thing she knew, they had reached £450. She was at her limit, but something inside her was not letting her lose out. She had to buy the lockers. She raised her paddle another time.
‘Four-sixty!’
‘Four-sixty,’ repeated the auctioneer. ‘That’s, four-sixty. Any advances on four-sixty? Going once. Going twice.’ The auctioneer paused dramatically. ‘Sold.’ He whacked the gavel down on the desk and then, in a well-practised signature movement, he spun the gavel around and pointed the handle at Darcie. ‘Thank you. And well done.’
As she walked around to the cashier’s office, the adrenaline and euphoria ebbed away, leaving her with the cold reality that she had spent £460 that afternoon and the worst part was, the lockers were a complete gamble. She was such an idiot getting carried away like that, but still she couldn’t quite override the feeling of excitement that came with the purchase.
The warehouse staff at the auction house helped put the luggage lockers into the back of her 1960s Morris Minor Traveller. Darcie had already removed the contents of the lockers, which comprised an old brown leather suitcase, a plastic drawstring bag, and an old coat, together with a tennis racket. She would wait until she got home before having a proper look at everything.
When she arrived back at Petworth, she pulled into the parking space behind her shop, Vintaged and Loved.
Her mother, Lena, and her younger sister, Chloe, came out to greet her. ‘How did you get on?’ asked Lena.
Darcie opened the double doors to the boot and patted the set of four metal lockers. ‘I won.’ She beamed, hoping they wouldn’t ask her about the price.
‘Here, I’ll give you a hand to get them out,’ said Chloe.
With Chloe on one end of the lockers and Darcie on the other, they manoeuvred them past the annexe where Lena lived, through the back door and down the hallway into the shop. ‘Just put them over here by the till for now,’ instructed Darcie. ‘I’m not sure where I’ll put them yet.’
She cast her gaze around the shop at the wonderful and beautiful clothing she had acquired over the years. There were dresses from the 1920s through to the 2000s hung around the space, with different sections for the different eras. Each section was styled appropriately, predominately with clothing, but also with era-specific props.
The Sixties section had Andy Warhol-esque pop art, and a record player on a small coffee table; while the Seventies section was all about flower power; and the Eighties was rara skirts, leg warmers, block colours, and shoulder pads. Each decade clearly identified. Out of the nine different areas, her favourite was the 1940s with the setting of a dance hall and a mannequin she’d recovered from a skip, now dressed up like Vera Lynn, complete with an old-fashioned microphone. Darcie loved to play big-band swing music in the shop and sometimes sported some of the clothing as a walking advert for her business. ‘I think I might add the lockers to the 1940s scene and make it bigger,’ she mused.
‘It’s always a popular era, especially when Goodwood Revival weekend is on,’ said Chloe.
Vintaged and Loved looked over the main square of Petworth, surrounded by the Petworth Arms pub, a café, a church, a convenience store on one side and an antique shop on the other. The market town was renowned for its antique shops, closely followed in second place by its tea rooms and coffee shops. Darcie’s business was a good fit for the town, especially when, as Chloe had pointed out, Goodwood Revival was on and people came from all over the world to relive the nostalgia of yesteryear. The week leading up to the local festival saw the footfall through her shop increase tenfold.
‘Have you looked inside the lockers yet?’ asked Lena.
‘I did. There’s a suitcase, a bag, and a couple of bits. I’ll just get them now,’ said Darcie. ‘We can have a quick look.’
‘Do you want me to close the shop up?’ asked Lena.
‘Good idea. It’s nearly five o’clock anyway,’ said Darcie. She watched her mum from the corner of her eye, reaching up to slide the bolts across at the top of the door and then bending down to the bottom bolt. Darcie was conscious that the bending and stretching weren’t always easy for her mother. Lena had lived with chronic back pain for the past fifteen years, following a car accident when Darcie was eleven. With her maternal grandmother living in Cornwall and an absent father, Darcie had become prime carer, not just for Lena, but for her younger sister, Chloe, as well. The three-year age gap had, seemingly overnight, stretched to what felt like a chasm when Darcie’s role as big sister switched into a mothering role. It was only in more recent years that the balance had shifted to a more sisterly equilibrium.
There was always something exciting about opening a left-luggage case and Darcie had been lucky with a few of them in the past, yielding contents she could either sell in her shop or donate to a clothing bank. It was a gamble, but it was also addictive.
‘Open it up, then,’ encouraged Lena, taking the seat behind the counter.
‘Drum roll,’ said Chloe theatrically, and she rapped the countertop accordingly.
Darcie picked up the drawstring bag and placed it on the countertop. Pausing for dramatic effect, she looked at her sister and mum before loosening the neck of the bag and peeking inside. There was a bundle of clothing, and Darcie tipped it out onto the wooden surface. There was a distinct smell of mustiness and an old, very old, sweaty type of stench.
‘Oh God, it stinks!’ said Chloe, covering her nose and mouth with her hand.
‘It looks like a PE kit,’ said Lena, who was leaning away with her face screwed up at the smell.
‘Great,’ said Darcie, having a quick look to make sure it really wasn’t anything exciting. ‘No. Definitely looks like a smelly PE kit or even a football kit.’ She scooped it up and stuffed it back into the bag and tightened the cord. ‘I’ll throw that straight in the outside bin.’
‘I’ll do it now,’ said Chloe. She hooked the drawstring on her index finger and, holding it at arm’s length, strode through the back of the shop and out into the yard.
Darcie could hear the lid of the wheelie bin open and clatter shut again. Chloe came back into the shop. ‘There, job done.’ She eyed the suitcase Darcie was now heaving onto the counter. ‘Let’s hope that’s not the rest of the class’s PE kits. The whole bloody football team’s kit or something equally disgusting.’
