Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (i want to read a book .TXT) 📕

the door and waited impatiently while Stan’s assistant served a woman wearing a checked coat that was far too heavy for the summer. She was buying a bed, apparently for her nephew, who was paying her a visit. The assistant put the money in the till, wrote out a receipt and promised the woman that the bed would be delivered before ten o’clock the following morning.

I tapped my foot as I waited, then Amy spotted a pile of records on top of another wind-up gramophone. She sorted through them excitedly, passing some particularly well-known ones to me.

‘Ahem. May I be of assistance, or are you just browsing?’ said a deep voice behind me.

‘Are these for sale,’ asked Amy, before I could get a word in.

‘They come with the gramophone,’ said Stan.

We checked it out. It was priced at one pound fifteen shillings and eleven pence (even second hand dealers used the same eleven pence, trick). It wasn’t a patch on the blue beauty in the window. The chrome fittings were dull, the black case was scratched and the carrying handle was coming away.

‘How much is the blue one in the window?’ I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

Stan went off to check.

‘That one is two pounds seventeen shillings and eleven pence,’ he informed me, looking for all the world like he was wasting his time talking to us.

‘Can I have a closer look at it?’ I asked.

I could hardly contain myself when Stan returned carrying the musical box of my dreams.

Stan cleared his throat and began the big sell.

‘This is the 1933, HMV model 102a with the advanced, model 16 receiver. That’s the bit at the top of the playing arm where the sound comes out,’ he added, helpfully.

I already knew that, as Amy had a similar model, in black.

‘It comes with a pyramid of replacement needles, and I’ll throw in a record stacker. He pointed to a leather box with a spindle inside where you could safely store your records.

I was about to say I’d take him up on his offer when Amy kicked the back of my ankle.

‘Does it come with any records,’ she asked.

‘No, this one does not,’ Stan replied.

‘We might be interested in buying it if it did,’ Amy said, looking at the pile of records next to the cheaper machine.

‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid.’ Stan stood his ground. ‘Can you really afford to purchase it?’ he asked.

I produced my Post Office book, showing that I had in excess of fifteen pounds in my savings account. That may have been a mistake, as Stan suddenly smelled money.

‘I’ll let you have them for a pound,’ he offered.

‘A pound!’ Amy stormed. ‘You mean to say that this gramophone,’ she pointed to the black model, ‘is only worth fifteen shillings?’ she turned to me. ‘Buy that one, Alice, at fifteen bob, it’s a bargain.’

I was about to say I didn’t want the tatty black one, when Amy kicked my ankle again.

‘It doesn’t work like that, Miss,’ said Stan.

‘Well, we don’t want it at all if it doesn’t work,’ replied Amy.

She began walking towards the door. ‘Come on, Alice, we’ll see if they have one at Harry’s Home Furnishings.’

Harry’s shop was on the far side of town. He sold everything from second hand mangles to radio sets.

Stan saw money walking away from him. ‘Don’t be so hasty. Maybe we can work something out.’

Amy stayed at the store while I rushed back to the Post Office to withdraw the funds required. I was so red-faced and out of breath when I got there that the woman behind the counter thought I was about to give birth. When I had assured her that I wasn’t, she looked me over and ordered me to sit on a wooden chair while she sorted out my money.

‘Just in case,’ she said.

I did as I was told and sat impatiently while she recorded the withdrawal in my savings book, and stamped it with an inky, rubber, date stamp.

‘Are you buying a pram, my dear?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, in case she refused to hand over the money if she thought I was spending it on something else.

‘Silver Cross, dear,’ she advised. ‘Even the second hand ones are worth buying. Mine lasted me for all three of my children.’

I thought she was going to give me the whole history of her pram, so I told her I had to rush in case someone else bought it before I got back with the money.

‘Good luck, fingers crossed, or should I say, silver crossed,’ she said with a little laugh.

I waved to her and hurried out of the shop. I rushed back to Stan’s to find Amy guarding the gramophone as though her life depended on it. She blew out a sigh of relief and gave me the thumbs up as I rattled my purse at her.

Stan still didn’t seem too happy with the sale. ‘I’m robbing myself here,’ he said as he counted my money into his till.

Five minutes later, we were walking home. Me carrying my beautiful, blue gramophone and Amy carrying the record stacker and an armful of records.

When we got back to the farm, we put it on the kitchen table, wound it up, and spent the next two hours dancing and singing along to Bing Crosby, Bessie Smith and Louis Armstrong.

Miriam came in from the front room as we were dancing a waltz to one of the slower tunes.

‘Could you show me how to do that dance again, Alice,’ she asked. ‘I’ve forgotten already.’

I had been dancing with Miriam the day before, but we didn’t have a lot of time to practice.

‘Amy’s the expert,’ I said. ‘Anyway, my bump gets in the way.’

Guided by Amy, Miriam learned how to Waltz and Foxtrot. By tea time she was doing well enough to dance with Michael on the Saturday.

‘You’ll be fine with those two dances, Miriam. Just stay clear of the Tango and Lindy Hop,’ Amy said.

‘What on earth is a