In a Pickle Story

Get Back to Where You Once Belonged

Dottie, alone in the shop after Alison had disappeared upstairs to ostensibly do some laundry, was behind the counter, rifling through her treasured box of pop singles. Finding the record she wanted, Dottie set it onto the turntable of her blue Dansette player.

The sound of the Beatles at top volume reverberated around the shop. ‘Get back, get back, get back to where you once belonged.’

With a quick glance up the stairs to check the coast was Alison clear, Dottie headed towards the stockroom.

Amongst boxes and discarded objets d’art, furniture and dust, was a wheelbarrow. Inside the wheelbarrow was the pillar-box red 50s cash register, Dottie had named Ruby.

Dottie couldn’t believe that while she slept this morning, Alison was instructing a stranger to sweep Ruby off the counter, dump her unceremoniously into the wheelbarrow and install a digital till in her place.

Gripping the barrow handlebars, Dottie cautiously steered Ruby out of the stockroom, through the kitchenette and into the shop.

‘Get back, get back, get back to where you once belonged,’ she sang, along with the Beatles while clearing a space on the counter.

Dottie wrapped her arms around Ruby and heaved. Ruby budged a bit. Dottie let go. It was clear she needed help to hoist Ruby back into her rightful position. She couldn’t ask Alison!

‘Time I think,’ she ruminated aloud, ‘for a cup of Red Bush Tea.’

Dottie only had time to fetch her Snoopy mug – no time to put another record on, or even the kettle on - when she heard the door of the flat open and close. Alison was coming down the stairs.

In a flash Dottie pushed the wheelbarrow behind the counter.

‘Have you seen my new silk jumper?’ asked Alison, before Dottie could ascertain why one of her favourite suspender belts was ensconced inside Alison’s skirt pocket.

‘Do you mean that dung coloured affair?’

‘It's camel coloured.’

‘Matter of opinion.’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

Alison sighed. ‘Have you seen my silk jumper?’

‘Not recently.’

Alison gave up. Besides she had another issue she wished to discuss.

‘Where have you put the bottle of mild detergent?’

‘In the bin…no conferring please,’ joked Dottie in her best University Challenge voice.

‘Your reason?’ prodded Alison, refusing to lighten up.

Dottie picked up the top magazine from a pile on a shelf. It was a 1967 edition of Honey.

‘It was empty…the bottle, not the bin,’ said Dottie, flicking through the magazine.

‘Auntie Dottie, how many times have I asked you to write on the list when you finish something. How else can we know when said items need replacing?’

Dottie shrugged. ‘What’s your problem? I've just told you we've run out of mild bubbles. You know we need a new bottle. Mission accomplished.’

‘That pile of magazines needs sorting into classifications,’ said Alison, indicating the stack Dottie had taken the Honey magazine from. ‘There’s a Beano comic followed by a Bunty, followed by a 1966 Radio Times.’

‘No chance of,’ and Dottie sang words from The Kinks hit, ‘lazing on a sunny afternoon...in the summertime...’

Alison shot Dottie a look of exasperation and darted behind the counter – someone had to be the grown up, she needed some money to buy a bottle of detergent, otherwise how was she going to do any laundry today?

‘What are you doing?’ cried Dottie, too late - Alison had bumped into the wheelbarrow.

Not missing a beat, Alison grabbed the wheelbarrow handlebars and steered Ruby from behind the counter.

Ignoring Alison’s querying eyebrows, Dottie drawled casually, ‘Why are you walking around with one of my spender belts in your pocket?’

Alison, momentarily distracted, held up the belt like she was holding a stick of dynamite.

The suspender belt was shaped in a pink heart, scalloped with black lace. For Dottie, the item was of exquisite beauty and wearing it made her feel good. Alison viewed the same piece of lingerie as embarrassing.

‘This was in the laundry basket,’ said Alison in a scathing voice. ‘I so can’t believe you still wear such…such scanty attire, Auntie. It’s amoral.’

‘Fairly sure you mean immoral…which it isn’t.’

‘I know what I mean.’

The shop doorbell dinged. Alison flushed, hastily shoving the offensive lingerie back inside her pocket.

Beatrice or Trixie?

Retired Brown Owl, Beatrice Fortescue stepped inside Pickles Vintage Emporium. Alison’s spirits sank, Dottie’s brightened.

Beatrice, was in dress code, the antithesis of her great friend Dottie. A local gossip, Beatrice's features settled like a comfy chair. Her typical appearance was of a cosy aunt – with one exception.

‘What do you think?’ boomed Beatrice, as if she was rounding up her Brownie's on a field trip.

Beatrice looked down at her feet, Alison and Dottie following her gaze. Her feet were encased in bright blue stilettos. This was Beatrice’s one exception (or, her Achilles heel) appearance wise. She loved stilettos and the brighter coloured the better.

That her shoes looked out of place with the rest of her outfit never worried Beatrice. She was a woman with her own whacky style – a mixture of old-fashioned untrendy, teetering on the daintiest footwear by top designers.

‘New shoes Beatrice?’ asked Dottie.

‘Trixie,’ said Beatrice, her loud voice firm. ‘Aren’t they just darling?’

Alison deemed the shoes were over the top as usual, so she simply smiled at Beatrice without commenting.

‘Beatrice -’ said Dottie.

Beatrice interrupted. ‘Trixie. My name is Trixie today.’

‘This is not the time to be debating your split personality Beatrice stroke Trixie. I need your help. Although…’ reflected Dottie, ‘I agree those shoes are not Beatrice clods.’

But Beatrice’s attention had diverted from names and shoes to the sight of Dottie’s treasured cash register.

‘What’s Ruby doing in a wheelbarrow? Thinking of planting her in the garden?’

Before Beatrice received an answer the doorbell rang again.

Angelic Customer

A man stepped inside the shop. Dottie decided he was built on the scale of a wrestler, with the face of an angel and so from that moment, she thought of him as Mr Angel Face.

He looked at the three women watching him. He looked away. He saw Ruby in the wheelbarrow.

‘Och, would you look at that beauty!’ enthused Mr Angel Face, galvanised into breaching the space between him and Ruby in masterly strides. He looked, clearly smitten at Dottie’s cash register, Ruby, inside the wheelbarrow.

Alison quivered. How right she was. Ruby would be a cinch to sell.

‘1953 and in mint condition,’ said Alison.

Dottie intervened. ‘Sadly, it’s not for sale. I’ve just bought this vintage cash register for the shop,’ she lied.

Ignoring best friend Beatrice’s puzzled, ‘What? Ruby?’ and Mr Angel Face’s quizzical expression at this outburst, Dottie asked, ‘Would you mind helping me lift it onto the counter please?’

Alison blushed to her roots. She couldn’t believe Auntie Dottie had the audacity to ask a complete stranger. It was so embarrassing.

But Mr Angel Face was happy to oblige. Without any fuss, he embraced Ruby in his ample arms, lifted her clear of the barrow and onto the counter, onto the exact spot Dottie wanted.

‘Congratulations on such a magnificent purchase,’ he said. ‘Auction purchase, was it?’

Beatrice, now completely mystified, said, ‘But you’ve had Ruby for years.’

‘Ruby? Who is Ruby?’ enquired Mr Angel Face.

Dottie spun round to face Beatrice and fiercely whispered, ‘Shut up Trixie. I’ll explain later.’

Spinning back to Mr Angel Face, who wasn’t getting any enlightened answers from Alison, Dottie made circles with a pointed finger at the side of her head and boss-eyed him – indicating, quite wrongly that Beatrice was not all there. Startled, he looked at Beatrice.

Seeing a woman in her fifties, wearing a plain shift dress, cabled cardigan and bright blue designer Stilettos, apparently convinced him. He smiled at Beatrice with something like sympathy.

Alison, suddenly finding her voice, asked, ‘Can we help you with anything Sir?’

‘What? Och I see, you mean did I enter your Aladdin’s Cave with a mind to buy something?’

‘Exactly Sir,’ said Alison his flamboyant description of Pickles Vintage Emporium unnerving her again.

‘I wanted a present for my girlfriend.’

‘What a lovely idea pop picker. What’s this girlfriend’s name?’

Mr Angel Face hesitated before replying, ‘Ruby.’

‘Ruby?’ exploded Beatrice. ‘Ah...now I understand…you were all talking about your Ruby. No, that can’t be right, you’ve only just told us your girlfriend’s name...’ she trailed off, forehead furrowed.

‘Button it, Trixie,’ implored Dottie, ‘I told you.’

‘Yes, I remember Dottie. You’ll explain later.’

‘Beatrice!’ shouted Dottie.

Mr Angel Face blinked. ‘Beatrice. Who’s she?’ he asked, shaking his head, bewildered.

Alison all but stamped a foot. ‘Did you have anything in mind for your girlfriend’s present?’ she asked, quelling Dottie and Beatrice with a look an old school mistress would be proud of.

Turning back towards Alison, Mr Angel Face glanced at her skirt pocket. Mystified, Alison looked down. She gasped. A stocking ribbon of Dottie’s suspender belt was escaping Alison’s pocket.

Alison tried to shovel the suspender belt back inside her pocket. She failed. Instead, the offending scanty piece of lingerie appeared to spring out and Alison had no choice but to clasp the belt in her hand.

‘How pretty!’ exclaimed Mr Angel Face. ‘Is it for sale?’

‘Yes,’ said Alison, suddenly inspired. ‘It’s a new item for the shop, I was just deciding what shelf it could go on.’

‘May I?’ he asked, reaching out.

Alison almost threw it into his eagerly waiting palms.

‘Och, it’s another item of beauty,’ he cooed. And opening the belt full length, ‘Yes, that will fit Ruby a treat.’

‘You can’t buy it. It needs a wash,’ improvised Dottie.

‘It doesn’t smell like it needs washing. It’s got a lovely aroma like a summer meadow filled with wildflowers,’ said Mr Angel Face, seemingly oblivious to Alison holding a hand over her eyes like a child playing you can’t see me, and Beatrice staring at him wide-eyed. ‘That perfume smells like the perfume you’re wearing,’ he finished, looking directly at Dottie.

Dottie melted. She knew when a man was paying her a compliment.

‘Would you like me to wrap it up in tissue paper?’ she asked.

‘How much is it?’

‘Fifteen pounds,’ said Dottie.

‘You’ve got yourself a deal,’ he said, handing Dottie her own suspender belt.

Dottie rang up the sale on her treasured and back as Queen of the counter cash register, Ruby. She wrapped the belt carefully in lilac tissue paper.

‘See you later, alligator,’ said Dottie as all three women watched Mr Angel Face leave Pickles Vintage Emporium, a happy man.

‘So why was Ruby in the wheelbarrow?’ asked Beatrice, over the sound of the shop door closing.

Listen to the Beatles sing 'Get Back' on YouTube

Listen to the Kinks sing Sunny Afternoon on YouTube

Characters and blog post, In a Pickle Story - Will Ruby Get the Boot? Excerpt One is adapted from In a Pickle (Book One) to be published 2025 © Charlie Clarke 2023