she didn’t have to endure any more of his plodding driving.
They had driven back to Manchester from Jessica’s parents’ house on Friday evening, with Jessica sleeping most of the journey back. Dave had then picked her up, as requested, on Saturday morning and they were currently waiting across the road from a row of small shops not far from the area where they had found Tony the previous day. The property they were focused on had heavy metal grilles pulled down and bolted to the floor, covering the door and window and leaving just a small patch of smudged, dirty brickwork exposed. Hanging from the roof was a rotting wooden sign which was missing part of a corner, while the name of the shop was barely visible against the black paint of the sign.
‘I think your parents really like me,’ Dave said.
‘Maybe in the way you’d like a three-legged puppy you felt a bit sorry for.’
‘Your Mum said I can go back anytime I like.’
Jessica couldn’t work out if he was winding her up or not. ‘When?’
‘When you went to the toilet. She tapped me on the knee and said you hadn’t brought a “young man” home in years.’
Jessica felt horrified. ‘She didn’t?’
‘She did. Your Dad offered to pay me to take you off his hands.’
‘I told them we weren’t going out.’
‘Well what do you expect? You invite me to your Mum and Dad’s house for tea, what else are they going to think?’
‘I didn’t invite you for tea,’ Jessica replied forcefully. ‘I asked you to give me a lift up to their house and then they invited you in for tea. I only needed to be there for five minutes.’
‘You can’t go all that way, spend five minutes and then drive two hours back to Manchester.’
‘You’re right – which is why you were going to drive. Then you all guilt-tripped me into hanging around.’
‘Anyway,’ Dave said. ‘I never got the chance to ask how much your Dad was willing to pay, but if you can get me a phone number, I can maybe do some haggling and see what price he’s willing to go to.’
Jessica ignored him, instead watching the shop and checking the clock on the dashboard, wondering why it was still closed when the opening time said it should have opened fifteen minutes before.
Forty minutes after it should have opened, Jessica saw a man hurrying along the path, before stopping at the shop and crouching down to unlock the shutters. He was wearing a tight checked white shirt which bulged against his portly torso. Pausing for breath, the man then unlocked the second grate and entered the shop, turning the sign on the front around to read “Open”.
Jessica waited for a minute and then opened the car door, striding towards the shop. As she neared it, the writing on the damaged sign became visible. There were still scrapings of gold paint, although it was the black outline she could now read against the even darker background. “Hunter’s Jewellers, Est: 1950,” it read.
A bell tinkled as Jessica opened the door. The shop was small and cramped, with locked display cases along one side and another lower one in front of a table which the man was wedged behind, while a small laptop computer was perched precariously on the edge.
The man looked younger facially than his frame would indicate. His hair was black and greased to the top of his head, while he licked his lips in a way which made Jessica have to suppress a wince.
Even with just the three of them, the shop felt cramped and claustrophobic.
‘Can I help you?’ the man said, looking surprised at having customers so soon after opening.
‘Are you Gerald Hunter?’
The man coughed slightly. ‘He was my father, I’m Geoffrey.’
Jessica reached into a pocket and handed an item over. ‘This is a war medal of my father’s,’ she said. ‘He didn’t win it but he inherited it, if you get what I mean. I was wondering if you could appraise it for me? I was told you did this type of thing as well as jewellery.’
She nodded towards
They had driven back to Manchester from Jessica’s parents’ house on Friday evening, with Jessica sleeping most of the journey back. Dave had then picked her up, as requested, on Saturday morning and they were currently waiting across the road from a row of small shops not far from the area where they had found Tony the previous day. The property they were focused on had heavy metal grilles pulled down and bolted to the floor, covering the door and window and leaving just a small patch of smudged, dirty brickwork exposed. Hanging from the roof was a rotting wooden sign which was missing part of a corner, while the name of the shop was barely visible against the black paint of the sign.
‘I think your parents really like me,’ Dave said.
‘Maybe in the way you’d like a three-legged puppy you felt a bit sorry for.’
‘Your Mum said I can go back anytime I like.’
Jessica couldn’t work out if he was winding her up or not. ‘When?’
‘When you went to the toilet. She tapped me on the knee and said you hadn’t brought a “young man” home in years.’
Jessica felt horrified. ‘She didn’t?’
‘She did. Your Dad offered to pay me to take you off his hands.’
‘I told them we weren’t going out.’
‘Well what do you expect? You invite me to your Mum and Dad’s house for tea, what else are they going to think?’
‘I didn’t invite you for tea,’ Jessica replied forcefully. ‘I asked you to give me a lift up to their house and then they invited you in for tea. I only needed to be there for five minutes.’
‘You can’t go all that way, spend five minutes and then drive two hours back to Manchester.’
‘You’re right – which is why you were going to drive. Then you all guilt-tripped me into hanging around.’
‘Anyway,’ Dave said. ‘I never got the chance to ask how much your Dad was willing to pay, but if you can get me a phone number, I can maybe do some haggling and see what price he’s willing to go to.’
Jessica ignored him, instead watching the shop and checking the clock on the dashboard, wondering why it was still closed when the opening time said it should have opened fifteen minutes before.
Forty minutes after it should have opened, Jessica saw a man hurrying along the path, before stopping at the shop and crouching down to unlock the shutters. He was wearing a tight checked white shirt which bulged against his portly torso. Pausing for breath, the man then unlocked the second grate and entered the shop, turning the sign on the front around to read “Open”.
Jessica waited for a minute and then opened the car door, striding towards the shop. As she neared it, the writing on the damaged sign became visible. There were still scrapings of gold paint, although it was the black outline she could now read against the even darker background. “Hunter’s Jewellers, Est: 1950,” it read.
A bell tinkled as Jessica opened the door. The shop was small and cramped, with locked display cases along one side and another lower one in front of a table which the man was wedged behind, while a small laptop computer was perched precariously on the edge.
The man looked younger facially than his frame would indicate. His hair was black and greased to the top of his head, while he licked his lips in a way which made Jessica have to suppress a wince.
Even with just the three of them, the shop felt cramped and claustrophobic.
‘Can I help you?’ the man said, looking surprised at having customers so soon after opening.
‘Are you Gerald Hunter?’
The man coughed slightly. ‘He was my father, I’m Geoffrey.’
Jessica reached into a pocket and handed an item over. ‘This is a war medal of my father’s,’ she said. ‘He didn’t win it but he inherited it, if you get what I mean. I was wondering if you could appraise it for me? I was told you did this type of thing as well as jewellery.’
She nodded towards
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