Another Buyer

Irene told her brother to arrive at eleven, offer the full asking price and leave.

“Don't sit down.”

“Why?”

“Because you're in a hurry.”

“Does it sag?”

“You're not buying it, Rob.”

She sent him the photograph again. A blue two-seater, £180, collection only. For the photograph she had put a bowl of lemons on the little table beside it. She had since returned the lemons to their bag. One was soft.

At ten to eleven, a woman called Denise arrived with a tape measure and a folded blanket. She declined tea and stood looking at the sofa with her hands in her coat pockets.

“Smaller than I thought.”

“The measurements were in the listing.”

“I know. I measured.”

Denise sat down. Irene waited for her to sit on the other side as well, but she didn't.

“A hundred and forty?”

“I've got someone else coming.”

“All right.”

Denise remained seated. Irene had expected the other buyer to make her act more quickly. Instead she seemed prepared to meet him.

The doorbell rang. Rob stood on the step wearing the brown coat Irene had given him for his birthday. He had combed his hair with water.

“The sofa,” he said loudly.

She stepped aside.

“Lovely,” he said, from the hall.

“It's in here.”

He came into the sitting room and nodded to Denise, who lifted her blanket off the cushion beside her. Rob sat down.

There was a small metallic complaint.

“That's the spring,” Irene said.

“I thought it might be.” Denise moved her tape measure to her other hand.

Rob bounced once, experimentally. Irene watched him remember he was in a hurry.

“I'll give you the asking price.”

“I've offered a hundred and forty,” Denise told him.

“Well,” said Rob.

He looked at Irene. This was the moment at which he was meant to leave. She raised her eyebrows towards the door.

“Could you come up a bit?” he asked Denise.

“That's between me and her.”

“Of course.”

He rubbed the fabric with his palm. Then he took off his coat.

“Actually, this would fit in my place.”

Irene smiled with her lips shut.

“It's a nice size,” Rob said. “I could get rid of the chair.”

He meant the recliner he had collected from a lay-by. He had shown her photographs of it before and after cleaning, as if the stains were something he had successfully negotiated away.

“I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I've got a minute.”

Denise got up and measured the width between the arms.

“If I took it today,” Rob said, “what would you want?”

“A hundred and eighty.”

“Yes, but if I took it.”

Irene went into the kitchen. Rob followed her, carrying his coat. He shut the door, leaving a strip of brown wool caught in it.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I didn't realise you were getting rid of this one.”

“I sent you a photograph.”

“On my phone. I thought it was the other one.”

“I only have one sofa.”

“I can give you ninety.”

She opened the door. His coat fell free.

Denise was kneeling on the folded blanket, looking underneath the sofa.

“We're brother and sister,” Irene said.

“I gathered.”

“He wasn't meant to buy it.”

“He's not doing very well at it.”

Rob draped his coat over the sofa's arm. “There's nothing wrong with making an offer.”

Denise stood up, brushing a pale hair from her sleeve.

“A hundred and fifty. I need it brought down to my van.”

“Ground floor,” said Irene. “The listing says ground floor.”

“It is on the ground floor. I'm asking if you'll help.”

“I will,” Rob said. Then, to Irene: “Unless you're considering the ninety.”

Irene looked at the sofa. Without the lemons it had a flat, used look. She had ordered its replacement on Thursday. The delivery people were coming tomorrow and would not take away the old one; she had asked twice.

“A hundred and sixty,” she said.

Denise considered this. She drew the tape measure out a little way and let it click back.

“Delivered.”

“No.”

“I'm round the corner. Second floor. There's a lift.”

“I've got a bad shoulder.”

“I haven't,” Rob said.

Both women looked at him.

“Twenty quid,” he added.

Denise looked at Irene. “So a hundred and eighty altogether.”

Irene picked up the bowl from the little table and took it into the kitchen. She put the lemons back in it, the soft one underneath. Then she moved it to the windowsill.

When she came back, Denise was counting out notes. Rob had fetched a screwdriver from Irene's drawer and was taking the sofa's feet off.

“You'll put those back on properly,” Irene told him.

“She wants them off.”

Denise handed Irene eight twenties. “Easier through the doors.”

Irene counted the money again. Rob asked for a bag for the feet. She brought one, held it open while he dropped them in, then put the screws in separately so they wouldn't fall through the hole in the bottom.

They carried the sofa outside, Denise walking backwards. Rob wore his coat again and had already begun to sweat.

At the van he said, “How big's this lift?”

Denise put down her end.

“Let's measure.”