The following Monday found Stevie perched nervously on a wooden chair in an auction room, along with a couple of dozen rather bored-looking potential buyers. She prayed they were there for any other property than hers. She also hoped they couldn’t smell fresh blood, because she felt like a goat staked out and waiting for the tiger. Surely, they could see on her face just how much she wanted the café.
She leaned back, crossed her legs at the ankles and tried to look nonchalant, failing miserably, then she caught the stern look on Karen’s face and struggled to control her giggles.
‘You’ve gone puce,’ Karen stated. ‘It’s not your best colour.’
‘It’s nerves,’ she spluttered, clamping one hand over her mouth to keep the hysterical laughter inside.
Karen shifted slightly in her chair, turning her body away from her friend.
‘Sorry,’ Stevie said in a muffled voice, tears trickling down her cheeks. She took her hand away and waved it in front of her face.
‘Three hundred and seventy-five thousand, I’m bid.’ The auctioneer’s voice cut through Stevie’s antics. He pointed directly at her.
‘What?’ She gasped, her eyes wide open and she stared at the podium in horror. She looked around frantically, realising many of the people in the room were watching her.
‘Any advance on three-seven-five?’ the auctioneer demanded.
Stevie sucked in her breath and Karen turned to glare at her.
‘See what you’ve done now?’ her friend hissed. ‘You’ve only gone and bid on something. I told you to keep still and be quiet.’
‘I’m selling at three hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds to the lady at the back,’ Stevie heard the auctioneer say, and she let out a low moan as he pointed at her again.
‘No, I don’t want it,’ she groaned.
‘Sold!’ The hammer slammed down, making Stevie jump. ‘Can I have your number please?’ he asked her.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t mean to bid on it. I don’t want it!’ She blushed furiously at the tittering around her and shrank down in her seat.
‘Not you, madam. I was referring to the lady behind you,’ the auctioneer explained.
Stevie sagged with relief. ‘Thank God!’ she said, rather more loudly than she intended. The slight tittering became outright sniggering. Karen glared at her again and shifted her seat a few inches to the right, trying to pretend she was nothing to do with the crazy girl sitting next to her. Stevie knew Karen often did that – she also knew her friend didn’t really mean it.
Stevie had never been to an auction before and had spent the first half an hour sitting on her hands, fidgeting in her seat, and cracking naff jokes along the lines of ‘don’t sneeze, or they’ll think you want to make a bid’. Now, it seemed, the joke had almost been on her.
Chastened for the moment, she sat quietly, her eyes downcast, wishing she was a chameleon. This got her to imagine what it would be like to actually be one, so, surreptitiously underneath her lashes, she tried to move each of her eyes independently of the other. The best she could manage was a cross-eyed grimace.
Karen elbowed her sharply in the ribs. ‘I thought this was the one you wanted to bid on,’ she hissed.
‘Oh, yes. It is.’ Stevie flicked the curls off her face and sat up straight. She raised her hand deliberately, smiling sweetly at the auctioneer.
‘Yes?’ he asked, utterly perplexed.
Stevie dropped her hand, her smile fading into uncertainty.
‘Did you want something?’ The auctioneer’s voice could best be described as irritated.
‘I want to bid on this one,’ she said, quietly.
‘Certainly, madam, but the bidding hasn’t started yet.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ Stevie bit her lip, did the seat shrinking trick again and thumped Karen on the thigh when she thought no one was looking.
‘Oi! That hurt!’ Karen whispered crossly.
‘That was your fault,’ Stevie hissed back. ‘I thought I was supposed to bid.’
‘Oh, just shut up and listen.’ Karen shook her head in annoyance, her sheet of dark, gleaming hair swinging about her face. Stevie scowled into the distance, until the steady drone of the man describing the café’s merits captured her attention.
She nodded determinedly as the auctioneer took the reins.
‘Who’ll start me off at one hundred and fifty thousand?’ he asked, staring straight at Stevie.
She was about to put her hand up again, when Karen murmured out of the corner of her mouth, ‘Don’t say or do anything. Wait.’
Stevie, for once, took the advice and froze on the spot, her mouth half open. The only things to move were her eyes, as they darted from face to face.
‘Come now. It’s worth one hundred and fifty.” He paused, his attention focused on the rest of the room. ‘One hundred, then? Thank you. One hundred thousand, I’m bid.’
Stevie craned her neck to see who her rival was.
‘Any advance on one hundred thousand? Do I hear one hundred and ten? One ten, anybody?’
Karen nudged her, and Stevie’s hand shot up.
‘One hundred and ten thousand pounds? Are you sure?’ The auctioneer was staring at her intently.
Stevie nodded, her hair bouncing on her shoulders.
‘Right. One hundred and twenty thousand?’ He nodded to a rival bidder in acknowledgement. ‘One twenty, I’ve got. Who’ll give me one thirty?’ He shot back at Stevie, who waved her hand at him.
The bidding quickly rose to two hundred thousand and beyond. At two hundred and thirty-five thousand it stopped.
‘It’s against you, sir,’ Stevie heard the auctioneer say to her unseen rival on the other side of the room.
‘Two hundred and thirty-five, for the first time. Two hundred and thirty-five, for the second time. Going at two hundred and thirty-five…’ A dramatic, too-long pause, then, ‘Sold! For two hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds to the lady with the ginger hair.’
Chestnut, chestnut, Stevie thought, leaping to her feet and shouting, ‘Yes! Yes!’
This time the smiles and laughter from her fellow bidders were indulgent. She held her number up for the auctioneer, waited until he had made a note of it, then she grabbed Karen’s hand and dragged her outside.
‘It’s mine! It’s mine! It’s mine!’ she sang, dancing around in a circle and swinging Karen with her. ‘I need a drink,’ she declared, breathlessly.
‘So do I,’ Karen agreed, and they teetered off to the nearest public house to celebrate.