Tuppeny Blues

TUPENNY BLUES

By Paul Diamond

"How much?" Marnie's scream shook the walls of their tiny antique
shop

"Er - Forty five quid." Sid mumbled, as if saying it quietly would
make it
sound less.

"You paid forty five quid for a black marble clock? You're off your
head.

Who brought it in?"

"That Mrs. Consett."

"Oh well. That explains it. Big boobs and a pelmet for a skirt and
your

brains drop into your bleedin' boxer shorts. You styoopid old
man."

Sid looked sheepish as his wife continued to glare at him.

"I'm going shopping. I need some money." She snapped.

He reached in his pocket and pulled a couple of twenty pound notes from
a
wad held together by a silver clip. Marnie snatched them from him and
stormed
out of the shop slamming the door behind her. Sid sighed, sucked at his
grey
toothbrush moustache, picked up the heavy clock and carried it into the
workroom
at the back. A key was sorted out and drops of clock oil applied with a
fine brush.
He wound it carefully and set the pendulum swinging. There was a
healthy tick
and the main spring was intact. He wound the striker spring and set the
minute
hand to twelve o clock. The clock struck four and after a second's
pause struck
five. The bell sounded muffled too.

Sid peered inside the back. There was something interfering with
the
notched wheel which controlled the striker mechanism. It seemed to be
coming
from inside the dome of the bell. He unscrewed it and found a small
packet
wrapped in waterproof paper stuffed behind it. Opened it revealed a
block of eight
first issue twopenny blue stamps, mint and in perfect condition with
the head of the
young Queen Victoria as bright and clear as it had been when they were
printed in
1840.

He was looking at a fortune. Perhaps hundreds of grand. It was the
big
tickle, the antique dealer's dream. They must be hidden away until he
could
decide what to do with them. If he sent them to auction the tax would
be
enormous. How could he sell them privately? He would 'phone Stanley
Gibbons
and get some idea of the value. The shop bell rang. He looked for
somewhere to
hide the stamps temporarily. Rolling them into a tube he slid them into
the spout
of the teapot of the Doulton tea set he had bought in that morning:
only twenties
but quite pretty with one chipped cup that he must strop up.

It was Mrs. Consett: she of the big boobs and the micro miniskirt.
She

smiled at him wanly.

"Oh Mr. Perks, that clock I sold you, I'm terribly sorry. I thought I
was
clearing out some unwanted rubbish and that clock doesn't work.
It's
been in the attic for years gathering dust. My husband says it belonged
to
his great grandmother and it's a family heirloom. He's very upset. Can
I
possibly buy it back from you?"

Sid thought quickly. "I'm sorry Mrs. Consett. I've already taken a
deposit

on it. It's virtually sold."

Tears flooded the woman's big blue eyes. She put her head on one side
in
appeal. "Suppose I pay you more for it so that you can give the other
person
back their deposit. How much did you sell it for?"
Sid thought quickly. He couldn't quote too high a price or it would
seem as

if he had swindled her. Seventy five would do.

"Well - er - seventy five pounds"

"If I give you a hundred would that be all right?"

"Well yes, I suppose so."

She counted out five twenties while he went for the clock.

"Here's a key." he said. "I think you'll find it works quite
well."

She put the clock in a canvas holdall and hurried from the shop barging
in to

a young woman who came in, looked round suspiciously, and carefully
unwrapped

four tiny wine glasses engraved with a key pattern.

"How much will you give me for these?" she asked. They're very old,
They

belonged to my great grandmother."

"I'm sorry my love." Sid was being avuncular. "Great grandma
bought

them in Woolworth's in about nineteen thirty eight, They're no use to
me."

The woman scowled and began wrapping the glasses again. Sid wished
she
would hurry up. Since 'Going for a Song' and 'The Antiques Road Show'
the
private punters thought that everything more than fifty years old was
worth a
fortune. They dreamed of appearing on the tele while an expert said
'D'you have
any idea of the value? Well the last one went for ten thousand pounds.'
They even
practised the modest smile they would assume while swearing that this
piece of
family history would never be sold.

At last the woman left and Sid was about to return to his stamps when
a

burly man in a well cut business suit came rushing in.

"All right. Where is it?" he demanded.

"Where's what?"

"The packet from the back of the clock."

This must be Mr. Consett, beneficiary of the big boobs and provider of
miniskirts.

"What packet? I don't know what you're talking about." Sid looked
the

picture of outraged innocence.

"There was a package in waterproof paper hidden behind the bell of
that

clock my wife sold you. Where is it?"

"I've told you. I don't know anything about it. I only had the thing
for half

an hour. If anything's missing ask your wife where it is."

The man paused, almost convinced. "The bitch. She must have known
they

were there. That's why she pretended to sell it to you."

"Known what was where?" asked Sid innocently. But the man had
already

run out of the shop.

Sid still could not get to the back room. Perks Antiques had never been
so

busy. A fat man in a camel hair coat strolled in. Ginger Marks was from
the better

end of town with a shop that was slightly up market from Sid's. He was
still called

Ginger although the few hairs he had left were grey.

"Got anything for me?" he puffed through a fat cigar.

"There's a few new things. Have a look round."

The fat man picked up a set of silver plated condiments, looked at the
price

ticket and put them down again. A pair of cased silver and mother 'o
pearl fish

servers were more interesting.

"What can you do on these Sid?"

"A ton?"

"Make it ninety."

"Ninety five."

Ginger stuffed the case into his pocket and blew out a stream of cigar
smoke

as Marnie came back to the shop carrying two heavy shopping bags. She
went into

the back room and came out again.

"Where's the clock ?"

"Sold it."

"How much?" she mouthed at him.

"Sixty five." he mouthed back.

She pursed her lips. Sid had justified his purchase from big boobs.
She

could no longer use it to make him feel guilty. She returned to the
back room.

Ginger Marks was still peering at some porcelain in a china
cabinet.

"Is that Meissen?" he asked, pointing to a cup and saucer.

"No. It's a Sampson copy."

"Show us."

Ginger looked at the cup carefully then gently bit round the edge with
his teeth.

"Restored" he said and put it back in the cabinet.

Marnie came in bearing a lacquer tray. "Cup of tea Mr. Marks?" She
put

the tray down. "I like this Doulton tea set Sid. I'm keeping it for
us."

The tea pot stood steaming on the tray. Sid went white. Marnie
frowned.

"What's the matter with you? It's a perfectly good tea set. I washed
the

teapot out with soda and boiling water like you showed me. It's quite
clean."

The words went spinning round in Sid's head. "It's quite clean, quite
clean,

quite clean."

Marnie could not understand what was up with Sid. 'What fiddle has
he

been up to now?' she wondered. Whatever it was obviously it hadn't
worked. No

doubt she'd find out in good time.

Anyway she was more concerned with the roll of blue Victorian
stamps

which had fallen out of the teapot spout when she picked it up to wash
it; the

stamps now hidden in her underwear drawer upstairs. They must be worth
a bit.

She would pop in to the library when she went shopping the next day and
look them

up in the catalogue. Meanwhile she turned to Ginger Marks with an
ingratiating

smile. "Jaffa cake Mr. Marks?"