Free Precious Things by Kelly Doust Page B

like an irresponsible student.
    Jamming her handbag on the passenger seat, Maggie pulled her belt across her chest and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.
    She tried again.
    Not even a splutter.
    The key turned easily but the starter motor wouldn’t turn over.
    â€˜No!’ she exclaimed, hitting her palm against the steering wheel. So much for German reliability. Pulling a lever to open the boot, Maggie got out and slammed the car door.
    Of all days! she thought, catching sight of her wild-eyed reflection in the window. Readying herself for a dash to the high street, Maggie spotted a grey minicab idling outside her neighbour’s house, several doors down. The light on its roof lit up as a man got out. Perfect , she thought. Perhaps my luck’s not so rotten after all. Maggie waved frantically at the driver, pulling her things out of the boot, and ran to open the minicab’s door. Gratefully, she tumbled inside. ‘Waterloo, please!’ she gasped, sinking back against the stained fabric seats in an attempt to catch her breath.
    The driver nodded, and sped off towards Channel 4.
    God, the coronet , Maggie thought in a panic, her breath catching. Had she remembered to pack it? She scrambled through her bags until she found the piece, safely wrapped in layers of pink tissue paper.‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she said aloud. She hadn’t been able to resist bringing it along for the segment. She opened up the layers to look at it. It was such a strange, beautiful thing, Maggie thought, gazing at the intricate beading and sequinned stitching, and the trailing ribbons she’d stitched onto the item’s sides herself.
    She thought back to the Sunday just gone, when she’d uncovered its true beauty. Pearl had been dozing on the sofa in front of Mary Poppins as Maggie worked away on her laptop, hoping to catch up on emails before Pearl awoke. They all usually cooked and watched old films or played board games together on rainy weekends, but work had been so busy lately, especially since the promotion, that Maggie had let it start encroaching more and more on family time. At least they’d had time to play dress-ups that morning, with Maggie in a wolf mask chasing a willing Pearl as Little Red Riding Hood all around the downstairs rooms, pretending to bite her when she caught her, Pearl squealing with delight and screaming, ‘More, Mummy – more!’
    Viewing a link in one of her messages (to an online boutique sent by a would-be client looking to clear out her collection of Belle Époque fashion and accessories) a random thought had popped into Maggie’s head: where was that wotsit she’d found last week, in the box from Friday’s auction? The scrunched-up looking item she’d cast inside her bag for later inspection? Maggie jumped up and went searching for her tote, feeling a little shiver of excitement at the thought of playing with the piece while Pearl slept.
    â€˜Ah, there you are,’ Maggie murmured under her breath as she withdrew the plastic bag from the depths of her cavernous leather bag. Closing the door gently behind her, Maggie switched on the light for the laundry and opened a cupboard above the huge porcelain sink, salvaged from an old dairy in Somerset. She placed a black rubber plug over the drain and turned on both taps, mingling the water with her hand until it reached the perfect lukewarm temperature. Pouring in a capful of nappy cleaner, Maggie swished it around to dissolve the white crystals. She had a whole cupboard filled to bursting with bottles containing white vinegar, baking soda, tea tree oil for removingoily stains and various heavy-duty products for scouring, scraping, sponging, dusting, disinfecting and bathing her beloved bits and pieces as she carried out her specialised form of CPR.
    She carefully emptied the contents of the plastic bag into the shallow bath and rubbed at the linen between her fingertips, tenderly