Chapter 13
Timothy was waiting for Gemma outside the pub.
As usual, a corner of a handkerchief poked out of the top of his breast pocket and he smelt like fancy cologne.
He’d come from the museum and she, straight from work.
She hadn’t had time to change out of her nurse’s uniform.
Her face felt flushed and her skin sticky.
The Tube had been stifling and at six-thirty in the evening, there was still warmth in the sun.
‘Sorry, I’m late. I had emails to catch up on,’ she said. ‘We weren’t told at nursing school how much admin there’d be.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve been people watching and wondering if any of them were fellow mudlarkers.
One thing I’ve learnt is that people don’t always present how you think they might.
Take you, for instance. When I saw you by the river that day, you’d bucked the trend for drab mudlarking clothing with your yellow gloves and pink boots. ’
Gemma looked down as if she’d forgotten she wasn’t still wearing said yellow gloves and pink boots. She laughed.
‘I inherited the boots from my late mother-in-law, along with a silver toast rack and a floral teapot,’ she explained.
‘They were her best gardening boots. She only had them a few months before she died and they were in excellent condition, so I thought why throw them out? I liked Gwendoline. She was almost like a second mother and it’s nice to be reminded of her. ’
‘I like that and the colour is eye-catching. Then, take me …’ Timothy gestured to himself. ‘I bet you don’t know what another of my hobbies is.’
Gemma’s mind was so full from work that she didn’t have the capacity for a guessing game.
Thankfully, Phyllida arrived and she didn’t have to. Although if she did, she’d have probably said something like pigeon racing.
‘Gemma!’ Phyllida said with gusto, her large gold earrings swinging as she spoke. ‘And you must be Timothy.’
‘Spot on,’ Timothy said. ‘Are we the club?’
‘There’s one more. I think he’s already here.’
The Mudlark Pub was, ironically, full of office workers and, according to the pavement chalkboard, fried food and regional hand-pulled ales. They followed Phyllida to a corner table where a man with a mop of strawberry-blond hair was waiting. He looked familiar but Gemma was unable to place him.
‘There he is,’ Phyllida said. ‘Everyone, this is my favourite metal detectorist, Nick.’
The man stood up and gave a bashful half-smile.
‘Haven’t we met before?’ he said, shaking Gemma’s hand.
‘Surprise!’ Phyllida shouted, startling Gemma, who then remembered.
‘Of course. The earring man.’
‘That’s me.’ Nick grinned. He was wearing black jeans and a dark grey T-shirt with a tiny white guitar on the top left-hand corner.
‘Would you believe it?’ Phyllida said dramatically. ‘Fate intervened yet again and the other day by the river, we were both there at the same time. I didn’t know if Nick was my jewellery rescuer but, naturally, I had to find out—’
‘—and here we are,’ Nick said.
‘Timothy,’ Phyllida said gravely, turning to him. ‘This man saved my life.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Nick, when you found my earring, I couldn’t believe it. Neither could my husband. I broke open the bubbles and we celebrated as if it was my birthday.’
No one knew how to respond to that, so no one did. Instead, Timothy offered to get a round of drinks.
‘You can buy them at the table via the App,’ Gemma explained, but he’d already gone.
‘Isn’t he a darling?’ Phyllida said, sitting down and fishing out a notebook and pen from her handbag.
‘This looks serious,’ Nick said.
‘Don’t mind me. I like being organised and menopause has given me a sieve for a brain,’ Phyllida said.
Nick shot Gemma a look of bewilderment. Gemma shrugged. What did she know about menopause? Only that her mother had a collection of hand-held paper fans which she jokingly promised to bequeath to Gemma and, knowing her mother, she probably would.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t bite. My mood swings are minimal.’ Phyllida let out a high-pitched laugh which made them both jump.
‘Why don’t I help Timothy with the drinks?’ Gemma suggested, glad to have something to do.
Eventually, they were all seated.
‘This is so exciting,’ Phyllida announced.
‘When I mentioned a club to Gemma, I wasn’t even sure if she’d want to come.
I just love the idea of meeting people from different walks of life who share a common interest, knowing our mudlarking tales won’t be tiresome.
Shall we start by introducing ourselves? ’
Gemma wondered if Phyllida had been a teacher in a former life.
Phyllida continued. ‘Tell us who you are, why you started mudlarking and what you love about it. And if there’s something you’re searching for—’
‘The answers to my questions,’ Nick blurted out.
‘My third wife,’ Timothy said as if it was a competition on who could make the best joke.
Gemma giggled and Phyllida nearly choked on her wine. ‘Aren’t you two the comedians?’ she said. ‘How about I go first and we can go around the table?’
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m Phyllida, as you know, and I’m fifty-five.
Not that I want to highlight any birthday candle privilege,’ she added, giving Timothy a smile.
‘I’ve worked in sales and marketing at the same company for so long that I qualified for a sabbatical and I’ve finally taken it.
But I didn’t know what to do with myself!
I’ve never not worked ever since I was thirteen when I had a job at the local newsagents.
You’ve no idea what a knot I got myself in about being at a loose end.
The guilt I felt …’ Phyllida shook her head.
‘That’s when my husband told me to stop being so silly.
That I deserved a break and to just get on with my me-time.
He was also the one who said I should get serious about my mudlarking hobby.
So, I listened to him, like I always do, and now I’m loving it so much, I’m not even sure I want to go back to work. ’ She sighed dramatically.
‘Well, I’m not jealous,’ Nick said light-heartedly yet with obvious envy. ‘What I wouldn’t do to have a break from work. Anyway, you haven’t said what you love about it and what you’re searching for.’
‘Oh, yes. I like the stories behind the objects we find and I’d love to uncover a penny lick glass.’
‘Which is?’ Nick asked.
‘It’s a small glass in which ice cream was sold from the mid-eighteen-hundreds to the nineteen-thirties.
It only held a few licks of ice cream, although its shape made it appear as if it held more.
When you finished your ice cream, you gave the glass back to the seller and it was used again.
Unfortunately, health and safety didn’t exist back then and germ transmission was rife.
It became the ideal vessel for spreading diseases like cholera and tuberculosis and was the reason they stopped being made. ’
‘The innocence of the times,’ Timothy said.
Gemma nodded.
‘Ignorance more like,’ Nick added.
‘Would you like to go next, Nick?’
Nick scratched his head as if trying to remember who he was and what he was doing there.
‘I’m Nick and I’m a newspaper reporter,’ he began.
‘I’m now freelancing after losing my job during COVID.
I was sort of being truthful when I said I’m looking for answers to my questions.
But I’m afraid I’ve never mudlarked. I inherited my dad’s metal detector and thought I’d give it a go.
Even though I sometimes used to go with Dad when I was a kid and I like history, I admit I was a bit disparaging of the hobby.
I used to wonder why anyone would get excited over a poxy old mud-caked curio—’
Phyllida drew a sharp, audible intake of breath. ‘Nick, how could you?’
‘It’s blasphemy.’ Timothy nodded.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Nick said, looking at Gemma to ascertain whether they were being serious or not. Gemma tried not to smile.
Then Phyllida batted the air. ‘We’re only joking.’
‘Okay, phew.’
‘Still, you mustn’t describe anyone’s find as poxy,’ Gemma said, because, really, who did he think he was?
‘Very true, Gemma,’ Phyllida agreed, writing who-knew-what in her notebook. ‘Just like no question is too silly, no find is too terrible.’
‘Of course. I’ll never do it again,’ Nick said. ‘Shall I keep going?’
‘Please do.’
‘So, yeah, I’ve only used the metal detector a few times because it started playing up and then it stopped working.
It was old and not in good nick. That was when I met Phyllida the other day and she suggested I try mudlarking because—’ He mimed quotation marks in the air.
‘—It’s arguably more enjoyable and much less noisy.
I didn’t think she was being serious about a club, though, and I wasn’t going to come at first. I still don’t really know why I’m here.
I’m curious, I guess.’ He tried to hide his bewilderment by taking a swig of beer.
‘Curiosity is the hallmark of an excellent larker,’ Phyllida said. ‘Is there anything you’d like to discover?’
‘I guess everyone wants to find the cliched “treasure”, don’t they? Or something Roman. I’ve just been assigned to do a feature on the two-thousand-year-old Roman house that was uncovered not far from here at that multi-million-pound office development. I’m fascinated by London’s Roman history.’
‘That sounds amazing,’ Gemma said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Phyllida. ‘You must keep us updated on that story. So, Timothy, you have the stage.’
‘Evening all,’ Timothy said. ‘I’m a retired businessman and I volunteer as a guide at the British Museum. I believe I’ve got all my marbles for someone in their late seventies and I even have some Roman ones.’
‘Really?’ Nick said in awe.
‘Really.’
‘Wow.’