Chapter 2 #2
‘Ouch!’
Rosie spun around, apologising instantly. ‘Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!’
The young woman’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘That’s all right. This place always amazes the tourists.’
Rosie could tell she was Dutch from the way she pronounced the words, even though her enunciation was perfect.
‘Oh, I’m not a tourist,’ Rosie clarified.
‘Well I am, I suppose, but not technically and not for long.’ The woman looked utterly confused.
Rosie was over-sharing as usual. ‘I live here now.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, I just moved here.’ As she was soon going to be running a stall at the flower market, Rosie thought she might as well introduce herself and stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Rosie.’
‘Emma,’ the woman replied. She was about the same age as Rosie with striking dark red hair and emerald green eyes.
Her vest top was bright yellow and her long skirt of contrasting red swished around her ankles.
She looked like she’d stepped straight out of the Seventies. ‘What are you doing here then, Rosie?’
‘I’m going to have a pitch at the flower market and then start a shop.’
‘Wow, you’re doing all of that today?’ Her eyes were wide with surprise and awe.
Rosie laughed. ‘I would if I could but no, that’s the end goal.’
‘That’s quite an ambition. Good for you. But you know the stalls at the flower market aren’t easy to come by. Do you have a licence already?’
‘A licence?’
The research she’d done hadn’t covered anything about a licence. Melody’s anxious voice came into her head. She wasn’t a details person. Had she missed something vitally important?
In a no-nonsense fashion, Emma outlined what Rosie needed to know. ‘Everyone needs a licence to trade and there’s nearly always a waiting list for these spaces. They’re like gold dust around here unless you know the right people.’
‘Right.’ Rosie’s voice wavered though she tried to keep her smile intact. She had definitely missed something vitally important. Damn it.
‘So you don’t have a licence then?’ Emma’s voice was laced with sympathy.
‘No. But that’s okay. I’ll get one.’ She paused for a second. ‘How do I get one?’
If Emma thought she was silly for thinking it would be that easy she didn’t say anything. Instead, she just smiled. ‘You need to go to the Marktbureau and apply for one, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope if I were you.’
Rosie tried her best not to be discouraged. She’d just have to go and see what she could do. ‘Well, thanks for your help, Emma.’
‘No problem.’ She leaned in a little closer.
‘If I were you, I’d tell them that you plan to offer something a little different.
They might be more likely to give you a pitch if you’re doing something no one else is, or something that appeals to the tourists and the community. That’s their big thing at the moment.’
Grateful for the advice, Rosie grinned widely. ‘I’ll definitely do that, thank you!’
She could offer talks, in English for tourists at first, then try Dutch when her language skills had improved.
Her mum had often done that for WI groups and as part of her job, and she’d loved it.
Her cheerfulness came from sharing her passion with people and as long as they’d had enough to pay the bills, she hadn’t cared about other things.
‘And here. Have some of this.’ Emma moved back into her shop and picked up a plate, offering Rosie a small plate of cheese cubes. ‘It’s cheese.’
‘Cheese?’ Rosie echoed.
‘Cheese,’ Emma confirmed. ‘ Maasdammer , to be precise. It’s delicious. From a local supplier. Try some.’ She nudged the plate towards her, grinning. ‘Please.’
‘Oh, okay. Sure.’ She took a square by the small cocktail stick sticking out of it and ate.
‘Isn’t it delicious?’
‘Delicious,’ she repeated. It really was, but she wasn’t quite sure of the etiquette when responding about cheese that had been gently forced on her. ‘Is this what you do?’ she asked, pointing at the cheese plate and the shop behind her stocked with all kinds of delicious deli items.
‘Yes, this is my shop. Isn’t it beautiful?’
‘Absolutely.’
She grinned at Rosie’s reply. ‘Maybe one day you’ll have one like this too.’
‘I hope so,’ Rosie said with a sigh. She had hoped, as stupid as it might be, that there would be a free stall and she’d be able to secure it like people did shops back home. She hadn’t thought about licences and the details of starting a business here. She wouldn’t admit that to Melody, though.
After saying goodbye, Rosie entered the Marktbureau into Google Maps and went on her way.
It wasn’t a long walk. Amsterdam, she was discovering, was quite a small city.
The red-brick streets made her feel like she’d stepped back in time, but the increasing traffic as she moved towards the centre of the city made it clear that wasn’t the case.
She crossed canals, lingering over the bridges to admire the view of the water reflecting the boats and houses just as the flower market had done before.
It was astonishing how one street could be busy and crowded and only a turn or two later she could be surrounded by peace and quiet, a sense of serenity encompassing her.
There were pockets like this in London too, but not many and much harder to find.
She loved that such quiet was easier to come by here.
Before long, she arrived at the council building. What would she say to convince them to give her a pitch over all the other hopeful people? And what would she do if there was a waiting list? She should have known this location would be popular, especially with the local vendors.
Her hopes faded even more as she approached the austere, uninspiring building.
In contrast to the welcoming heritage of the city, the Marktbureau was a severe, stern-looking modern building.
She walked inside to be met with suits and frowns, so familiar from her London office jobs.
It was as if she’d been transported back there.
After half an hour of pinging between floors, people and desks as she was passed off from one person to another, only to start all over again, she was finally sitting in front of the right person and her temper was fraying.
But Rosie knew that a bad temper wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
The odds were already stacked against her. What she needed was a charm offensive.
‘ Goedemorgen ,’ she trilled cheerfully, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot.
The middle-aged man with thinning hair and a doughy face that made him look like he’d been moulded out of clay didn’t respond.
‘Umm... I was hoping to acquire a pitch at the flower market,’ Rosie continued.
He barked out a burst of laughter so sudden and loud that it made her jump.
Rosie bit down against the temper flaring inside her and ignored him. ‘I think I need a licence or something– is that right?’
‘Madam, you can’t just waltz up here and get a licence.’ He looked at her as if she was stupid and, while she felt it, she didn’t enjoy being reminded of the fact by a stranger. ‘We have a long, long waiting list for spots in the Bloemenmarkt .’
‘For all the pitches?’
‘Most of them.’
‘Well which one has the smallest list?’ she asked, clasping her hands together in her lap. It made her feel like an old-fashioned maiden aunt but if she didn’t, she’d only start wringing them together as the nerves in her stomach mounted, and she didn’t want that to show.
He tapped something on his keyboard and the screen lit up. There followed a moment of huffing followed by him wiggling the mouse and some passive-aggressive loud clicking. ‘The only one with a small waiting list is the kleinste .’
‘I’m sorry, for the—’
‘ Kleinste ,’ he repeated. ‘The tiniest pitch. Only a few people want it because it is so small. About the size of that cupboard.’ He pointed to a small cupboard at the back of his office that was about the same size as one on her houseboat.
‘Hardly worth selling anything from it. The current owner is about to move to a shop.’
It wasn’t ideal, but still excitement surged within Rosie.
It was an opportunity, and she wasn’t about to turn it down.
Everyone had to start somewhere. She’d lived in tiny boxrooms in bad house shares in London and made it work.
She’d just need good display solutions, and a look on Pinterest later would give her lots of ideas.
‘And how many people are on the waiting list for it?’
He huffed again and turned back to his computer screen, jabbing at the keys. ‘Two. No, no... one. The other applicant has died.’
‘Oh!’ She hadn’t expected to hear that. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she added, pressing a hand to her chest.
He shrugged. ‘Why should I care? I didn’t know them.’
Unsure what to say, Rosie mumbled, ‘I suppose.’ Then, steeling herself, she spoke louder.
She only had one opportunity to gather all the information she needed to make this work.
She wasn’t going to waste it just because he was annoyed with her taking up his time.
‘Can I ask, who is the other person on the list?’
‘We cannot give out that information!’