The Unlikely Life of Maisie Meadows

A disembodied country accent announced, ‘Forrrr. Three. Ni-yern.’ Johnny noted the number on his sheet and turned the page.

Johnny had suggested Maisie watch some of the auction – especially as she’d put a written bid on the miscellaneous box of kitchenware. ‘All part of your continuing education, dah-ling,’ he said. ‘And there really is nothing like it. The atmosphere can be deliciously electric, especially if you have two tenacious bidders after the same item. Never mind a pin, you’d hear the downy feather of a recently plucked fowl drift to the floor.’

Arthur had popped into her office to say they were getting close to her lot, so she’d reluctantly dragged herself away from the old-fashioned oil heater roasting her toes, if not the rest of her shivering torso, and walked over. She watched as groups of people drifted in and out, some in expensive dark green quilted jackets and Hunter wellies, some in purple North Face anoraks, jeans and trainers. Maisie initially sat rigid, not daring to move her arms in case she accidentally bid for something expensive and found herself hundreds of pounds in debt. The stuff of sitcoms, perhaps, but Arthur assured her it still happened occasionally.

Settled on a high bar stool recently vacated by a serious-looking man in casual clothes and a brown wool trilby, Maisie was now able to distinguish dealers from the general public. The serious gentleman had been the former, not making eye contact and studiously ticking off items from his catalogue as he walked towards the door, an empty travel mug swinging from his fingers. He was there to do business, not socialise.

‘Lot 244. Miscellaneous china and kitchenware. Do I hear ten to start?’ Johnny’s deep, melodious tones boomed across the cavernous space. This was the box containing the tingle-inducing teapot, so Maisie turned to the front and focused on Johnny as the follicly challenged porter tugged the box out and pointed at it. He was the ‘show-er’ for the auction – the member of staff who highlighted the item currently being sold.

The barn was uninterested and silent. Maisie didn’t need to do anything as her bid would be on Johnny’s sheet.

‘I have some interest on the books, so I’ll start at five. Six, anyone?’

Again silence.

Maisie felt a bubbling in her tummy. Was it going to be this easy to buy the teapot?

‘No advance on five? Going once. Sold.’

He peered over his glasses to Maisie and shrugged an I told you so, before updating the paperwork and moving on.

‘Lot 245 – an anomalous collection of garden ornaments.’ There were a few giggles and murmurs as the porter held a couple of the less embarrassing gnomes aloft. ‘I’ll start the bidding at ten? Thank you, sir,’ and he nodded to his right. Someone in the front row obviously had a burning desire to turn his garden into a saucy sideshow. ‘Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen. Twenty. Do I hear twenty-five? Thank you, madam. With you, sir, at thirty? And thirty-five …’

When the bidding reached forty, Johnny cast her an astonished look and shrugged, as he waited for one of the eager bidders to decide whether life would be complete without an assortment of sexually uninhibited dwarf-like figures. Good grief! his eyes seemed to say – there are people out there who find such unpalatable objects of interest. She gave an emphatic nod and grinned, despite herself. After all her teasing, they were going to fetch a pretty penny.

‘And a new bidder, so it’s forty-five with you, madam.’

Maisie’s heart started to race. He’d explained how some buyers waited for the initial flurry of bids before stepping in. Three people in the room who wanted a box of garish gnomes. It beggared belief.

‘And I have fifty here at the front,’ Johnny said. Maisie shuffled her hands under her bottom, to make certain there were no ambiguous hand movements, and looked down at her feet, swinging happily over the edge of the stool. ‘Fifty-five with you, madam, at the back?’

She couldn’t quite see where Johnny was looking but he caught her eye again, grinning like a loon. Even he hadn’t foreseen this level of interest. She smiled and gave the faintest tip of the head and an eye-roll to acknowledge the humour of the situation.

‘And sixty?’ He swung back to the front. ‘No, sir? Certain we can’t tempt you? Are we all done then at fifty-five pounds?’ The gavel was held aloft as his eyes scanned the crowd. ‘And sold. Thank you, madam, this delightful collection of deviant outdoor ornaments are yours.’ He did another of his loud stage whispers to a group huddled at the front: ‘Each to their own, eh?’ He looked across at her again. ‘Number, please?’

Maisie’s heart, slowing slightly after the excitement of the bidding frenzy, began to race again. He was looking directly at her.

‘Umm …’ A high-pitched whine came out. Oh my God. Had she just bid for the damn things?

‘Ah, it’s okay, Maisie, I already have your number on my sheet.’

Yup.

A few lots later, during which time Maisie could barely look up from her now not happily swinging feet, Arthur slid beside her. She’d spotted him moving around the room when she’d first come in, chatting to people as he went.

‘Interesting collection,’ he said, nodding to the front and clearly referring to her recent purchase. ‘Pleased you got them if they were something you wanted. Wouldn’t have put you down as that sort of girl myself. I saw you as more flowers and veg – pots of primulas and window boxes of cherry tomatoes – but you never can tell. And I’d never judge anyone for their personal taste.’

‘Oh, the gnomes. No, that was a mistake.’ Her face was pale and her stomach leaden. ‘I didn’t even raise my arm.’

Arthur chuckled. ‘Well, there’s a rum do and no mistake. Poor love. Fancy being lumbered with all them. I’m quite broad-minded but there are a couple of those that made me blush. I daren’t tell our Pam. Not her sort of thing at all. She didn’t even like it when I bought one of them novelty corkscrews. Made me titter but she’s very much a lady and I’ve always respected that.’ He stroked his chin as he pondered her predicament. ‘It’s an eye contact thing. Did you make eye contact?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Ah. It’s the dealers, see? Don’t like other dealers knowing their business. Watch them. They barely move an eyelash but the auctioneer knows they’re bidding. Not like the general public, jumping up and down with their printed bidder numbers in the air, ever anxious the auctioneer won’t see them and they’ll miss out on their bargain Bavarian cuckoo clock.’

As she watched a few further lots, she realised Arthur was right; the extremely tall man beside them successfully bid for a collection of reproduction oil lamps yet barely twitched. But watching his face and Johnny’s, she could now see their interaction. Lesson learned, but an expensive and possibly humiliating one.

‘Tell Johnny and he’ll sort something out. I’ve seen buyers put things back into the sale the following week and even turn a profit. You did have competition.’

‘Please don’t say anything. I’d rather not have everyone thinking I was so green I bid on them by mistake.’

‘As opposed to them thinking you are a collector of naughty gnomes?’

It was a tough call but she nodded. She would just have to put her marketing skills to the test and see if she couldn’t make her money back somehow. She liked a challenge; after all, that’s why she took this job in the first place.

‘It’s right lovely to see someone who doesn’t let little mishaps in life get her down. I was telling my Pam that a bright young girl had started at work and what a lovely smile you had – just like a sunrise over the back fields – all glowing and lifty.’ Maisie felt a tiny grin spread across her cheeks despite her glum mood. ‘And you’ve got a keen eye. I saw you with that kiddies’ train set earlier. It looks smashing laid out on that glass-topped table. Might not be worth much but I reckon it’ll attract a fair bit of interest now.’

Arthur was on her wavelength. With the porters previously responsible for arranging the items in the salerooms, she’d noticed a distinct lack of the female touch. And Maisie was nothing if not organised. ‘Yes, I—’

‘And I thought to myself, that girl knows what she’s doing. She’ll be running the company before the week’s out …’

‘I hardly think—’

‘Because this company really needs more female input. The lovely ladies in the office don’t get the opportunity to leave their desks much, and when they do they always seem so busy. Always scurrying past me, with no time to talk. I guess they must be—’

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Johnny’s voice cut through the chattering hum of the room. ‘A little bit too much voluminous babble. May I suggest you take your chit-chat outside if your conversation is vital?’ Maisie was pretty certain voluminous was more a measure of quantity rather than level of noise, but Johnny liked his fancy words and seemed to get away with it – his flamboyant vocabulary rivalling his flamboyant clothes.

‘That’s told them,’ Arthur whispered, oblivious he was a sizeable part of the general level of increased chatter. ‘But then, you should have heard him when I first got the job. He was telling everyone to bugger off out of his saleroom if they couldn’t behave like decorous citizens – don’t mind admitting to you, I had to look that particular word up. But he’s toned down a bit in recent years. Definitely Theo’s input.’ Maisie threw him a questioning look. ‘Let’s just say Johnny’s tendency to say what he thinks don’t always go down well with the customers. And when he insulted a painting last year, the vendor was in the room, eager to see how much his masterpiece raised. Turns out not only was he selling it, he’d also painted it …’

Johnny proceeded to rattle through three hundred lots in the space of the morning. Everything from furniture to miscellaneous boxes of goodness only knew what. Often, it was house clearance, and Maisie found it heart-breaking that boxes of personal possessions were sold to people for whom the items held no significance. What of the trinkets bought on a honeymoon to remind the happy couple of their holiday? The book won at school decades ago for academic achievement, its ornate bookplate inscribed with the proud pupil’s name and treasured in a bookcase throughout the years? The sepia photographs of Victorian families, stiff and formal, but the names and relationships of the subjects long-since forgotten?

It was the memories attached to things that gave them their greatest value. Sometimes just looking at a possession could move a person to tears, or make a couple reach out for each other’s hands, reliving a special memory. And when no one was left to remember, they reverted back to objects with only a material value. It was, she suspected, why the teapot was so important to her. No one else would have those memories – it was merely a teapot – but to her it symbolised a tiny light at a time in her life when things had been dark.

At the end of the day, Maisie paid her unexpectedly hefty bill and wandered over to the barn to collect her goods. Theo and Johnny had their arms about each other so she coughed to make them aware of her presence, but neither seemed embarrassed by the embrace.

‘Here she comes,’ Theo teased, ‘to hang out with her gnomies.’ She tried not to react as she handed him the stamped invoice. ‘If you’re going to take them gnome with you, you’ll need to bring your car to the front – gnome pun intended,’ he said, smirking. He held her gaze rather longer than she anticipated and her tummy did a double handspring.

‘I can manage,’ she said.

‘All four boxes?’

‘FOUR?’ She snatched the invoice back and sure enough, Lot 245: Four boxes of miscellaneous garden gnomes were listed – any marketing idea she came up with to shift them would have to be pretty damn good. The box containing the teapot made five. Ten minutes later, lugging the last one into the back of her Fiat 500 and trying not to focus too hard on what the blue-hatted gnome was doing to the smaller red-hatted gnome, she slammed down the boot.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, she reflected how sad it was that Meredith’s possessions had been shoved into cardboard boxes and carted down to the local auction house to be sold for peanuts and scattered to the four winds. Those visits had only lasted a couple of years, until her parents’ divorce had been finalised, and the house in Hickory Street, with only Mum, Maisie and Zoe rattling around, had been sold. They moved into a modern box-like flat closer to the town centre and the secondary school. But in those two years, the neighbour who had previously only called a cheery hello over the fence offered a refuge to them both. She’d been an escape from the squabbling of her teenage siblings and company for her mum who, looking back now, must have been so terribly lonely.

And as Maisie turned the ignition key an amusing thought entered her head as she wondered if the collection of gnomes had also belonged to Meredith.

Chapter 12

‘Hi, sweetie. Just checking in with the family. Or rather, speaking to you to find out what they’re all up to. Ringing everyone individually is so tedious. You can get me up to speed,’ Lisa’s singsong voice gushed down the phone.

It was Saturday evening and Maisie was in the car park of Willow Tree House about to help her mother with a programme of activities for the residents. For some it would be a quiet hour doing jigsaws whilst others would engage in the more raucous Wii Sports. Maisie enjoyed a game of tennis but only when she could play it sitting down – Zoe’s sporty gene seemingly only present in one-quarter of the Meadows siblings.

‘We’re good,’ Maisie replied. ‘Any chance of a visit soon? Mum said there’s always a bed for you at hers.’ Her oldest sister hadn’t been down to Suffolk in over a year. Lisa had mentally distanced herself from the family before imposing a physical distance, but even the guilt trips home were becoming fewer and further apart.

‘Too busy, babe. Too busy. Absolutely rushed off my feet. Haven’t you seen my Insta?’

With her job at a large television studio outside York, Lisa rubbed shoulders with an array of celebrities and attended a wild assortment of glitzy functions that resulted in a never-ending stream of social media posts depicting her successful and exciting life. She had been what their mother called a spirited child and that spirit had found a home in the busy and equally dramatic world of television production. ‘Besides, you know Mum rubs me up the wrong way. Always asking prying questions.’

‘She asks because she cares, Lisa. She’s interested in what you do.’

‘But she knows there’s things I can’t talk about; I have to stay professional and all that. You can’t name-drop just because Ryan has flown in to film some scenes outside the Minster. You’d lose your job.’

‘Wow. Reynolds?’ Maisie was impressed. ‘Or Gosling?’

‘Couldn’t possible say, sweetie. And as for Mum, what I can share is on the socials for everyone to see. But it’s so chaotic up here right now, you wouldn’t believe. I barely have time for a toilet break, never mind a day off work, and if I’m not working I’m partying – which is basically the same thing.’

Any hopes Maisie had to see Lisa in the immediate future were dashed. There was a glugging sound as her sister topped up a glass at the other end and Maisie consoled herself with the fact it wasn’t an outright no. Perhaps she could travel up to York and pay her sister a visit. After all, if the mountain wouldn’t come to the bosom of the family, the family could catch a train up to her.

‘So – how are things at the antique shop?’ Lisa asked, followed by a slurp.

‘Auction house.’

‘Same thing.’

Although a large number of antiques went through their hands, Gildersleeve’s was about so much more. They had an enormous yard, for a start, a concrete space behind the two barns where an open-air auction was held for larger items, like timber and architectural salvage. And Saleroom One was practically a huge charity shop full of household paraphernalia and unwanted domestic appliances. You could hardly describe a second-hand toaster as antique. But even if she took the trouble to explain to Lisa, her sister would forget. It wasn’t something she needed to remember, like when the new season of Love Island was starting, so she invariably switched off.

‘I’m finding my feet but I love it. Although, after assaulting one of the managers by mistake I’m lucky to still have a job.’ And she told her sister about her run-in with Theo.

‘Ooo. Young? Single? Sexy?’ Lisa asked.

‘Five or six years older than me, definitely not single but, yeah, sexy in a Robinson Crusoe kind of way.’

She could appreciate Theo was attractive even if he was unavailable. In fact, if she was honest, she was torn between the massive disappointment that she wasn’t on his carnal radar, and relief that there would be no boss-employee romantic shenanigans after the Wickerman’s fiasco.

‘Shame. Mum told me Gareth turned out to be a non-starter. Actually, that’s not true. She said he was a rotten two-timing git, just like our father, who deserved to have his genitals severed from his body and run up a flagpole to see if anyone would salute them. Then she cried a bit and said she hoped she hadn’t passed on the genetic predisposition to attract skirt-chasers to you. Skirt-chasers? I mean, where does she get her expressions from?’

That sounded like their mother. The poor woman simply couldn’t let go of the hurt, but it was hard not to smile at some of her more imaginative plans for revenge.

There were a couple of hearty slurps and then Lisa said, ‘Men can be such pigs.’

‘I’m over it now,’ Maisie said, because working at Gildersleeve’s had reminded her there were plenty of decent people about. She’d been unlucky and Gareth was an idiot. ‘It’s having company in the evenings I miss the most. You know? Someone to talk to when—’ She was about to offload to her sister when Lisa cut in.

‘Great, don’t let the bastards get you down. Anyway, gotta go. Heading out shortly to try my hand at speed-dating. Never done it before but sounds like it might be a laugh.’ For a woman in her mid-thirties, Lisa certainly lived life to the full, with an almost teenage air about her lifestyle. In their different ways, Ben and Lisa had clung on to the blind optimism and unaccountability of youth and Maisie was slightly jealous. ‘Then I’ll hit the bars and work my way through a few of bottles of Prosecco with the girls. It’s been an exhausting week but the party never stops.’

Maisie wished she had a fraction of the social life her sister did but consoled herself with the knowledge she had an immaculate, chocolate-box house – albeit rented. Shame she didn’t have more people round to appreciate her top-notch domestic skills. Lisa might have bombed academically but there was no denying she’d soared professionally. Whatever it was Lisa actually did, she was moving in exalted media circles and every member of the Meadows family was proud of her.

‘Yes, I need to make a move.’ Maisie looked anxiously at her dashboard clock, as being late was not something she allowed herself to do. She didn’t elaborate on her agenda, however, as Lisa wouldn’t be quite as dazzled by her plans to spend her Saturday evening hanging out with octogenarians and drinking tea.

A week later and Maisie felt she’d undergone a second settling-in period at work. Just when she’d got things at Gildersleeve’s sussed, a new staff member had been thrown into the mix. Johnny conveniently forgot to mention she’d have to defer to Theo as well and she felt uneasy that the pair of them might be discussing her performance together at home of an evening.

‘Excuse me, Maisie,’ Arthur said, knocking respectfully on the office door, even though it was wide open. The week had seen the whole spectrum of weather from wet and windy to dry and crisp – sometimes within the space of minutes, but at that moment bright sunshine was forcing its way into the dim room, shooting a heavenly beam of light down to spotlight Johnny’s desk where she was sitting with her boss.

‘I know you’re terribly busy and whatever you’re doing is probably far more important and urgent than my silly prattling, but I wondered if you’d got a minute?’ Which invariably meant fifteen, bless him.

She’d actually spent the last hour teaching Johnny how to use his smartphone and done barely any productive work all morning – whilst important to Johnny, it hadn’t diminished her ever-increasing workload. He insisted that if Theo consistently refused to grasp the internet nettle, he would be the one to rise to the challenge. Like a kitten in a wool shop, he was positively bouncing about in his chair when he realised the tiny rectangle of glass and metal did so much more than make phone calls. Between them they’d installed a selection of apps – news, weather, banking – he’d even insisted she set him up on Facebook. Johnny was delighted, although his sausage-sized fingers struggled with the minuscule keyboard.

‘Of course, Arthur. I’ve fried Johnny’s brain sufficiently for today. What can I do for you?’

‘It’s more a case of what I can do for you. At least, I hope I’m doing you a service. I spotted some cups and saucers that looked rather like that curious teapot you bought the other week. I know how delighted you were with the purchase and wondered if you’d seen them. It’s amongst the lots from a house clearance Johnny did a couple of weeks ago – some old dear that’s gone into a care home. And I thought perhaps you’d be interested?’

‘Really?’ There was a slight quickening of her heart and a flutter in her throat. ‘I’d love to take a look. Thanks, Arthur.’ Maisie handed Johnny his phone and slid her chair out from his desk. The biggest grin spread across Arthur’s face.

‘You want to look now?’

‘If it’s convenient?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m not busy but I rather thought you would be. I know you important office staff always have deadlines and targets and spreadsheets to, erm … spread out. I didn’t intend to take you from your work.’

As they walked through the front office, Maisie tried to make eye contact with Ella again but she turned her head and started scribbling away in a notebook. She didn’t take it personally. Ella didn’t talk to anyone unless she had to – and instead glided around the office like a silent, pale and beautiful ghost.

As Maisie stepped outside the reception, Arthur pointed out a tiny patch of snowdrops under the gnarly sweet chestnut that stood at the edge of the car park.

‘I’m always cheered when the first blooms of the year appear,’ he said.

Although pretty in their way, they were too delicate and colourless for Maisie. ‘It’s the vibrant purple crocuses, the bright orange centres of the daffodils and smudges of yellow primroses I adore most,’ she said. ‘Brightening up those gloomy areas and damp, dark spaces winter has overpowered.’

Colour was everything, even though she’d bitten back this passion when executing her home décor. One simply did not paint rainbows of colour across the walls of a room – far too uncontrolled. Although her landlord was generally delighted with her requests to redecorate, a full-height mural of random shapes, paint dribbles and brilliant colours might be pushing it.

‘Yes.’ Arthur paused, seemingly and unusually lost for words. ‘I’m partial to primroses too.’

They walked into Saleroom One and came across Theo hanging pictures from the long steel pole running along the back wall. Last week it had been put to good use displaying a small selection of Turkish rugs. He put down the framed print he was holding.

‘I’m not stealing it. Don’t hit me. Or pelt me with sexually deviant gnomes.’ He put up his arms and cowered as if Maisie was about to attack him. She put her hands on her hips, tipped her head to one side and out-stared him.

‘Very funny, I’m sure, but I genuinely thought you were stealing from the cabinet the other day.’

‘Chill, I’m teasing. I’m not used to women throwing themselves at me. It was fun.’ Hmm, was that an invitation? She was tempted. And then maybe afterwards she could offer to run the iron over his clothes and sew up the rip on the cuff of his shirt. ‘Although, as well as assaulting staff members, I see you’ve been playing dolls’ houses with my salerooms,’ he said, over his shoulder.