Page 1 of Right Place, Right Time
1
Cambridge. 29 February 2024
‘You can do this,’ I tell myself determinedly, as I glance in the ornate silver mirror that hangs on the wall of my shop. For my meeting today I’ve chosen to wear a long green velvet coat and a bright art nouveau scarf that I recently bought from my friend Luca’s vintage-clothes shop. I’ve pinned my long hair up in a messy bun, and I hope I’m giving off just the right sort of vibe to land one of the biggest jobs I’ve taken on since I began running my grandparents’ shop – Rainy Day Antiques.
I lock up the shop and head across Clockmaker Court, a historic circular court in the centre of Cambridge, originally built in Tudor times, that now contains a mixture of shops and residential buildings.
‘Happy birthday, Eve!’ a cheery voice calls from the coffee shop as I pass.
I stop and turn back to acknowledge the good wishes. ‘Thank you, Harriet. It’s good of you to remember.’
‘How could we forget?’ Harriet’s husband, Rocky, says cheerfully. ‘I’ve baked a cake especially. I thought wecould all have a slice when everyone has shut up their shops tonight and then go for quick drink to celebrate?’
‘Oh, Rocky, you shouldn’t have,’ I say, touched by his kind gesture. ‘Wait, what do you mean everyone? Do you all know it’s my birthday today?’
Harriet nods eagerly. ‘Of course we do! When you only get a birthday every four years you have to celebrate! Pop back just after five and we’ll raise a toast to you.’
I turn and look at the rest of the shops that surround me and I’m surprised to see all my fellow shopkeepers have come to their open doorways and windows.
‘Happy birthday, Eve!’ Orla calls from her holistic shop full of crystals, tarot cards and the like. ‘Would you like me to read your cards later and see what the future has in store for you?’ Orla’s green eyes sparkle against her pale Celtic skin.
‘Maybe!’ I reply as enthusiastically as I can. Orla regularly offers to do this for me and I’m usually quite adept at finding a reason why it’s not quite the right time. I know how accurate Orla can be with her readings, but there’s parts of my life I’d much rather not be reminded of if I can help it.
‘Happy birthday, my darling!’ Luca waves from the doorway of his shop, where behind him rail upon rail of vintage clothes hang, interspersed with antique hats, jewellery and bags. ‘You didn’t think we’d forgotten, did you?’
‘Of course not. But it’s difficult enough for people to remember your birthday when you have one every year, let alone when you only have one every four. I’m touched you all remembered – really, I am.’ I look around at their smiling faces, and, as they’ve done so often over the years,Clockmaker Court and the people within it lift my heart and soothe my soul.
‘Ben even said he’d try to pop by,’ Harriet tells me. ‘Even though he doesn’t usually open on a Thursday.’
Ben is a lovely but quite elderly gentleman who also owns one of the shops in Clockmaker Court. Recently he’s only been opening his shop, which sells antique maps, coins and bank notes, for three days a week. The rest of us always marvel at how he’s able to make a profit with these reduced opening times and some of us have even offered to mind his shop for him when he can’t make it in. But Ben always insists he makes enough to live comfortably and within his means, and that’s all he needs now in what he likes to call his twilight years.
‘Then I am truly honoured,’ I say, turning around to smile at them all. ‘Thank you. I’ll make sure I’m back for around five o’clock.’
‘Have you shut your shop?’ Orla asks, looking behind me at Rainy Day Antiques. ‘I could have watched it for you. None of us are ever going to be rushed off our feet at the end of February now, are we?’
‘I appreciate the offer, Orla. But I’m hoping shutting the shop is going to be worth it today. I’m off to look at a big house clearance.’
‘Oh, really?’ Rocky asks. ‘Where?’
‘It’s a large house in Grantchester. It’s a lot bigger than the usual houses I clear, but the owner recently passed away and, apparently, he specifically requested that I perform his house clearance.’
‘Ooh, sounds exciting,’ Luca says. ‘You’ll let me in on any gorgeous vintage pieces, won’t you? You know, any stunning twenties flapper dresses, tiaras, that kind of thing.’
‘Of course! I always do. I doubt there will be any tiaras this time, but if I do see any, you’ll be the first to know!’
Luca winks.
‘Right, I’d better go. I guess I’ll see you all later, then?’
‘You will indeed, my love!’ Harriet calls, as the others all smile and wave.
I leave the calm and quiet of Clockmaker Court, which has barely changed over the four hundred plus years it’s stood in the centre of Cambridge. Its half-clad buildings, covered in dark timbers over uneven whitewashed walls, would look more at home in a Shakespearean play than in modern-day England, and I step out onto King’s Parade, one of the major tourist areas in Cambridge. Even though it’s February and there’s a distinct chill in the air, there are still a fair few visitors wandering around, either taking photos, browsing the many small independent shops that run along one side of the road, or staring up at the dramatic gothic façade of King’s College Chapel – the huge building that not only dominates this part of Cambridge, but is also one of the most well-known and photographed buildings in the city.
If it were a warmer day in springtime, I might have walked alongside the river across the meadows to Grantchester – a lovely walk on a pleasant day. But it’s a cold winter afternoon and sadly I don’t have that much time to spare. My appointment to view the house is at three o’clock and I still need to pop to WHSmith, which is on the other side of the market square in Cambridge, to pick up a new notebook.
When I do house clearances, I like to log everything of interest in a hardback notebook – I could use the notes app on my phone, but I’m a bit old-fashioned and I like to write everything down by hand. So before I begin towalk across town towards the bus station at Drummer Street – the number eighteen bus only takes between ten and fifteen minutes to get to Grantchester, so I should arrive in plenty of time – I do just that, buying my favourite brand of notebook with soft, lined pages and, on this occasion, a bright red cover. Then I set off across the town towards the bus station.
The number eighteen bus is already in its bay when I arrive, so I climb aboard and pay my fare. Then I find a seat upstairs and wait for the bus to depart.
