Chapter 27
27
True to his word, after lunch, Owen allowed Jess to lead him into the thrift shop she’d spotted earlier. It was a long, narrow shop cluttered with racks of mismatched clothes on the left-hand side of the wall. To the right were bookshelves filled higgledy-piggledy, and bric-a-brac treasures lined the back wall. A changing-room cubicle with a floral curtain on a rail screening it off was tucked away in the corner. Behind the counter sat an elderly woman clacking away with her knitting needles. Owen looked out of place as he lurked uncomfortably near the door while Jess began rummaging through the clothes.
‘Here!’ she called out triumphantly a moment later, holding a belted cream jacket aloft.
‘That looks like something my gran would have worn.’
‘For your information, this style happens to be all the go this autumn, and if I were to pick up a jacket like this on the High Street, I’d pay around fifty euros easily, but look, it’s only three and a half.’
‘Maybe there’s a reason for that,’ he replied, taking a step further into the shop.
Jess ignored him, peering at the label inside the collar. ‘Plus it’s made in England, not India, so it hasn’t been knocked up on the cheap by some poor underpaid factory workers.’
‘And she’s got a social conscience,’ Owen muttered, rolling his eyes.
Jess was determined not to be put off and set the jacket to one side, then carried on rifling through the clothes. She spotted a skirt she liked and then headed over to the shelf housing the books. There wasn’t much there to get her excited – old Jilly Coopers and a couple of Sidney Sheldons, but no children’s books. She moved toward her last port of call in the shop, pausing to smile at the old woman knitting as she passed by the counter on her way to the bric-a-brac section.
As she spied the little green, leaf-shaped dish hidden amongst a mishmash of seventies pottery, Jess felt a familiar roaring start up in her ears; her heart began to race as her palms grew slippery.
She picked it up reverently, turned it over and almost let rip with a jubilant, ‘Yes!’ Its stamp declared it was, just as she’d suspected, none other than Carlton Ware and… it had a price tag of a ridiculous one and a half euros.
‘Owen,’ she hissed out the corner of her mouth, inclining her head for him to come over. She didn’t want to attract the attention of any of her fellow shoppers or alert the knitting woman that she’d spotted a true bargain.
Owen raised an eyebrow and came over to see what she was holding on to as though her life depended on it.
‘What’s that you’ve found then?’
‘Shush! Keep your voice down,’ she whispered, her eyes flickering around the room to make sure they weren’t attracting any undue attention. ‘It’s Carlton Ware. I can’t believe it.’ She turned the dish over in her hands and showed him the stamp on the bottom. ‘It’s collectable; isn’t it gorgeous?’
Owen looked bemused. ‘It’s a dish shaped like a leaf. So what use will that be to you?’
‘I won’t actually use it, you – you – eejit!’ Jess moseyed up to the counter, pausing to pick up the jacket and skirt that had caught her eye. She handed her haul over nonchalantly. ‘I’ll have these, please.’
‘It’s a pretty little dish, isn’t it, dear?’ The old woman behind the counter put her knitting to one side and turned the dish over in her hands.
Jess sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t spot the stamp.
‘That’s five euros fifty, ta, lovie.’
She flashed Owen a triumphant I told you so look and handed over the money before telling her not to worry about a bag. Then she secreted away her treasures in her own bag and walked as fast as her skirt would let her out of the shop. To her surprise, when she turned around, Owen wasn’t behind her. She waited a few moments until he appeared in the shop’s doorway, toting a plastic bag. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.
‘It was a bargain,’ he said, opening the bag and showing her a thick Aran jersey to add to his Aran jumper collection. He had the good sense to look sheepish.