Picture You Dead

23

Saturday, 28 September

Even this early, the cool September air was full of promise. A cloudless sky, the faintest hint of a sea breeze, a day to make anyone feel optimistic. And Harry Kipling was feeling very optimistic indeed, less so Freya.

At 8.30 a.m. they stood outside the grounds of the historic Lancing College, a little bleary-eyed from their early start, sipping their thermos flasks of scalding coffee, and munching on the egg and tomato sandwiches that they had made for their breakfast. Warned that it could be a long wait, they’d also brought along a packed lunch and plenty of water in a cooler bag.

Harry was glad they’d made the decision to come early, because there was already a sizeable queue gathered here, many sporting summery hats and caps of every shape, size and colour. There was a buzz of excitement, of anticipation, and many of the crowd of people were in a chatty mood. Harry and Freya learned that some had just come along in the hope of being caught on camera, so they could tell all their friends. Others had brought a vast assortment of stuff, some clearly junk, some family heirlooms, some items, like theirs, which they had picked up at a car boot sale and were hoping they would turn out to be worth a fortune.

All around them, amid a sea of the branded red umbrellas and small white marquees, people clutched unwieldy packages, some of them parcelled in newspaper, or bubble wrap, or in supermarket carrier bags, as well as many unwrapped objects. A woman stood near them holding a set of fire dogs; another a wooden side-table; another a small rocking horse, and another a cake stand. There were objects of every different size and shape. It felt like they were in a rather posh, modernist take on a jumble sale, Harry thought. Except no one was buying anything. They were all here to get an expert’s appraisal on the objects they had. And all hoping for magic words from the expert. That the ugly vase they’d put flowers in, or the dreary bowl they fed their dog from, would turn out to be something from an ancient Chinese dynasty.

One excited couple they’d chatted with told them they had a Chinese marble-top table which had been collected from their home yesterday, by the show, because it had sounded of interest. They were hoping to be told it would be worth enough at auction to pay for the new kitchen they were planning.

Freya eyed the large Lidl carrier bag containing the bubble-wrapped painting on the ground beside them, propped against Harry’s right leg as he ate. Tired, because she didn’t do early mornings well, and especially not on weekends, she said, ‘There’s no wind, this would have been a great day to be on the beach with our paddleboards.’

‘Well, if we’re lucky and get seen early, we could get back in time to have an afternoon on the beach – and luxuriate in the knowledge that we’re now millionaires!’

She put an arm around him, leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘My big dreamer! Let’s try to manage our expectations, eh? I don’t want you setting yourself up for a big disappointment.’

‘I know. I’m not expecting it to be anything other than a copy and pretty much worthless.’

She stepped back and looked at him with the impish expression she had when she was teasing him and which he always loved. ‘Fibber! I don’t think you are expecting that at all.’

‘Well, maybe I’m a little optimistic – but hey, I’m a realist.’

‘Promise me one thing?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘That if this turns out to be a worthless copy or whatever, we just bin it, or give it to a charity shop – I don’t want to keep it in the house.’

‘It’s very pretty.’

‘So are a lot of poisonous plants.’

He grinned. ‘OK, I promise. And if it turns out to be genuine?’

‘Then I’ll send you a list of all the things I’d like for my birthday. Got my eye on some Louboutin shoes I’ve always dreamed of, and a Chanel handbag would be nice, too.’

He looked down at the carrier bag and tapped it. ‘You heard what the lady said.’