Free Between Friends by Jenny Harper

it as soon as the old pay packet hits the bank.’
    ‘Hmm. I don’t like lending outside of the city, certainly not on something like this. It’s a bit risky.’ He laid the brooch on the counter. ‘It’s a fine piece. Old. Scottish.’ He squinted at Tom. ‘The hallmark dates it to the late eighteenth century.’
    ‘Yeah.’ Scottish. His brain was racing. ‘My dear grandma, she was Scottish.’
    ‘Hmm. Have we done business before?’
    ‘Last week. My signet ring.’
    ‘I thought I remembered you.’
    The manager made his decision. He reached for a pad of papers and named a valuation figure. It was much higher than Tom had anticipated. Was there a risk? Might the absence of the brooch be noticed and traced to him? Maybe he’d have to come and redeem it, slip it back in Marta’s drawer. Usually he only took small things, the kind of stuff that wouldn’t be noticed – perhaps taking this brooch had been a mistake?
    ‘I can’t give you a fraction of that, of course, especially not with you not being local. The risk’s too high.’ He made a considerably lower offer. ‘That okay? How long for?’
    Gradually, Tom’s heart began to slow.
    ‘Seems fair. A week should be fine.’
    Surely Marta wouldn’t miss it quickly. He’d be able to redeem it as soon as his run finished.
    At last the formalities were completed.
    ‘Your ticket, sir. Fine piece, if I may say so.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Tom took the documentation, folded it carefully and placed it neatly between the pages of his pocket notebook. He smiled at the girl, simpering in her silly blouse, and left the shop with an idea – he would go and visit Janie. Why not?
    The dampness was lifting at last and some warmth was creeping into the day. Removing his jacket, Tom hooked it onto a finger and trailed it over his shoulder. He would walk.
    ‘Mrs Porter. And looking not a day older, I swear.’
    A dog was playing round the elderly woman’s feet, a yappy, shaggy creature.
    ‘Benji! Hush!’
    Evelyn Porter bent to scold the dog. Tom could see the pink of her scalp through the thinness of her hair, but lying cost him nothing. He took off his fedora and smiled.
    ‘Tom? Tom Vallely?’
    Her eyes had aged too. A pale ring lurked round the iris, but her expression had brightened considerably.
    ‘How wonderful. But how—?’
    He stooped to take her arms firmly in his hands and turned his head to air kiss lavishly beside each of her furrowed cheeks.
    ‘Didn’t Jane tell you I was here? I’m desolated.’
    ‘She’s met you?’
    ‘Last week. We had dinner at Marta Davidson’s. Am I to be invited in or must I stand forever in the garden?’
    ‘I’m so sorry, Tom. Of course, do come in. I was just surprised – Jane, look who’s here to see you. What are you doing in Edinburgh? What have you been doing all this time? I’m sure Jane – here she is – Jane, dear, it’s Tom.’
    ‘Hello, Janie.’
    ‘I’m astonished that you’ve got the n-n-nerve to come here.’
    ‘Just wanted to see you, Janie. You won’t deny me that, will you? Hey? Just a quiet chat? Last week there were so many people around.’
    ‘Of course you want a wee talk together,’ Mrs Porter was muttering to Jane. ‘I’m just away now, in any case.’
    ‘No!’ Jane’s voice was vehement.
    ‘You haven’t seen him for such a long time, dearie. I’d love to stay and catch up with all your news, Tom, but I’ve got a hair appointment in twenty minutes.’
    ‘T-Tom. Go.’
    She was holding firm. Maybe she had changed, then.
    ‘I’ve walked all the way from Princes Street, Jane. Surely you’ll offer me a cup of tea, after all these years? Witchy?’
    He could see the hesitation – the merest fraction of a beat, but it was enough. He laughed softly.
    ‘I don’t take sugar any more. But I did bring you some biscuits.’
    He tossed the fedora onto the coat rack and felt in the pocket of the jacket. Coming through Morningside he’d passed a deli and spotted the Leibniz dark