Curiouser and Curiouser
At least doing this gave him a reason to try out his new office. Greg set the ASUS next to his own archaic device. Opening the HP, his eyes were drawn to the little battery icon at the bottom. Unbelievably, it still had a full charge. Frowning and shaking his head at yet another inexplicable event, Greg hunted around for his old power cable. If his laptop had been left in here then the cable should be around somewhere. He wanted to see if it would power up the ASUS he'd found for Joanna. It was getting dark in the room, so he switched on the snazzy desk lamp, bathing everything in a clear warm light. He bent down to see where the lamp was plugged in, in case there were electric sockets he'd not noticed before.
The lamp wasn't plugged in anywhere.
Turning it off and back on again, Greg knew he'd have to investigate that little bit of information at some point but for now, he was willing to go with the flow. It was either that or go mad. As an afterthought, he took his phone from his pocket, made a note of the 67% charge and laid it on the top of the desk. He wanted to check there was no problem with the ASUS before he handed it over, as he wasn't sure how much Joanna would know about running different applications, though he could easily check what was already loaded. If needs be, he could download any stuff she might want in addition to the website design page wizard he planned to find for her. He was certain that, once she'd engaged with the idea of selling her pots, she'd be brilliant at it. He didn't stop to examine why he felt this, he simply did. And if there was nobody else to help her see this, then he would. He had no idea why he was doing this either: it was just something he saw that needed doing.
If Joanna couldn't be persuaded to do something with her talent, it would be everyone's loss. The wide pottery bowl she'd given him sat in pride of place in his kitchen; the elegant curve of the thing straight out of a designer's gallery. It would be a shame to leave it empty: he'd have to buy, and eat, more fruit.
Fortunately, the ASUS also held a full charge, so at least he could run a few basic diagnostics before he had to go out and find a power cord. As Rob had said, it had Windows, but he wasn't sure what kind of internet connection the Foy's had, if indeed they even had one. Frowning, he knew he'd have to check. In the meantime, he'd look for any updates and unwanted apps, and see what free anti-virus software he could get. What he really wanted to find was a free website design and small business package. It took him nearly an hour but by then, everything was as good as he was able to get it without lashing out on the expensive stuff. It felt important that he did this. That he might, in some small way, be responsible for making the Foy's lives a little better, was a good thing to be spending his time on. Not that he had much else to do except watch the TV. Although ...
Turning to his own computer, his grin took on a slightly manic edge when he saw the battery charge still read full. Lifting his phone, he saw that there too, the charge was now full. Trying not to think too hard about what that might mean, he opened up his music library and scrolled down to one of the files where he kept his collection of film soundtracks. What he really needed now was a burnable CD, though he wasn't sure he had any left, let alone find them. About to go hunting, he automatically reached for the top drawer in his new desk. As it opened, he inhaled sharply through his nose.
A single blank CD in a clear plastic case looked back up at him. Greg had no earthly idea where it had come from; it certainly hadn't been there the previous night. Fuck. He was starting to feel really glad that someone as level-headed as Joanna Foy had been on the receiving end of a similar experience or he'd swear he was losing it. Taking another deep breath, he inserted the CD into his laptop and downloaded as much music from famous science fiction films as he could fit. He knew there was at least one other person on the planet who might enjoy it apart than him. Greg smiled as he thought about Max and Jack. Good lads, the pair of them. Such a shame about their dad.
He checked his watch. It was just after seven. He chewed the inside of his lip. Would two nights in a row be over the top? Normally, he'd never consider bothering someone like Joanna again so soon, although the situation wasn't exactly what you might call normal. Without realising he'd done so, he dialled the number she'd given him. It was only when he heard the ring tone that he stopped to wonder what the hell he was doing. The woman would probably think he was stalking her. He was about to hit the end call button when Joanna answered.
"Greg? Hi. Is that you?"
Shit. "Hi, er, Joanna. Look, I've got an old laptop I'd like you to have. I've checked it out and it runs fine and it's got the basic stuff that you'll need to set up your own website. It's all pretty straightforward really. If you want it, that is, of course." He heard himself babbling and felt flustered. "I wanted to say my own thank you. Just knowing I'm not the only one in this insane situation is actually a huge relief, so I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate the mutual support. Er. That was it, really. Do you have an internet connection at your place? Would you like a laptop?"
There was a pause.
"We've got a Post Office broadband connection and I would love to borrow your laptop, although ..."
"What?"
"Apart from managing the reporting systems at work, I've never had my own computer to use."
"And?"
"And I'm not sure I'd be any good at using it," Joanna sounded hesitant. "My husband set everything up for his own laptop and I was always more interested in gardening, to be honest."
"Well at some point, you're going to need to know how to solve some basic computer issues for when the boys go to secondary school. I'm surprised they haven't got onto you about it already."
"Beth started at the City of London Academy last year and they've got some really good IT teachers there, but the boys are still at primary school and it's not quite so pressing yet, but I take your point." Sounding increasingly uncertain, Joanna fell silent.
"Look ... I could show you the basics, if you like," Greg didn't want to sound insistent but the feeling that this was the right thing to do drove him on. "I'm no expert, but I know my way around a laptop as well as most. I just wouldn't want you to feel that I was being too pushy."
"Pushy?"
Puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled, Greg wondered how things got so complicated. He tried again. "I don't want you to feel that I was in any way intruding, I guess," he said. "You don't have to keep the laptop if you don't want to but maybe Jack could use it when he goes up to the big school ... though the main reason is absolutely to get you to put your pottery online. If you want to tell me to sod off and mind my own, I'll leave the computer for you at work and we'll say no more about any of this. If ... that's what you'd prefer?" He couldn't possibly be any more upfront than that, could he?
"I just hate to feel I'm imposing on your good nature," Joanna sounded completely genuine. "Steven was always the one to take care of anything technical, so I feel utterly useless in that area. You've already helped us out with the front door lock, and you were so thoughtful with the children ... I simply don't want you to think that I'm taking advantage of all your kindness. I'd hate you to imagine that, I really would."
A small wave of relief washed through him. It wasn't him who was the nice one.
"I promise you'd not be taking advantage," Greg laughed down the phone. "I thought the boot might be on the other foot to be truthful: I didn't want you to think that I was being too pushy in trying to help. I wouldn't want you to think that."
"So you're okay with helping me and the children out with a few things?"
"And you're okay with me offering to help?"
There was a small pause. "As long as you promise not to think me an idiot because I don't know how to use a computer very well," Joanna sounded reassured.
"I promise. Though I might appreciate a cup of tea every now and again. The way you make them is perfect."
Laughter echoed across the ether. "I can do that," she said. "Are you busy now?"
"I was just sitting here wondering if offering to drive down to your place two nights on the trot might make you feel uncomfortable."
"It's just that both Jack and Max are sitting here asking me when you're coming down again. I think they enjoyed all the police talk."
"Put the kettle on then," Greg pocketed the CD. "I'll be there in ten."
###
"So then you click on this ..." Beth sat in front of the ASUS, showing both adults how to set up a basic webpage. "And now you have your own domain name," she said. "Though I still think 'River Pots' is pretty rubbish."
"But your mum's stuff is classy," Greg watched the child's deft fingers guide the mouse with certainty. "That's a simple, classy name," Greg leaned back looking satisfied. For a tenner a month with the first month free, Joanna now had a basic webpage to market her pottery. Thank goodness they taught this kind of thing in school these days as his IT knowledge turned out to be even more basic than the webpage wizard.
"You need to make it interactive now," Beth turned to look at her mother. "It's what all the good websites are doing."
"Interactive?" Joanna turned to Greg to see if he were any more enlightened. "You mean things that people can do things with?"
"Yes. Like videos of your pottery from different angles and a magnifying tool so they can look at bits more closely. You'll also need to have a payment facility and you need to have a bio with a photo of you in a floaty dress holding a pot so people know who you are."
Trading glances, the two adults in the room realised they were a little out of their depth.
"How old are you again?" Greg nudged the child gently on the shoulder. "You know more about this stuff than the both of us. Do you learn all this at school?"
Rolling her twelve-year old eyes like a pro, Beth sighed heavily at the ineptitude of the elderly. "Yes, of course we do. Besides," she announced confidently. "I plan on working in IT when I leave university."
Sounds of the Imperial March echoed out through the room as Jack decided he'd had enough of low volume, interrupting Greg's response.
"Down a bit, Jack please. Or use the headphones." Joanna called over her shoulder. "Bedtime soon."
Max was already on his way to be by the time Greg had arrived, the youngest Foy exhausted by a full day at school. Jack refused to go until he'd listened to the entire CD, his little face intense as he happily connected the music to his favourite film characters while colouring in a poster of the Death Star.
"You should also put some music on here too, Mum." Beth sounded entirely serious. "Something nice."
"I can see the sense behind that," Joanna nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same when you go into a really upmarket shop; there's cello or piano music playing in the background. Excellent idea, Number One child," she said, patting her daughter on the head.
"I've got tons of music, all kinds of music," Greg offered. "Why don't we see if we can do a quick video of one of your pots and put it on the website? You can always take it off and redo it if it's no good. Gotta start somewhere."
"Then it should be a video of a pot turning on a wheel," Joanna said carefully. "Against a dark background, but with a spotlight shining on the piece as it turns, so people can see all the details."
"No time like the present." Greg grinned. Far from feeling as though he was imposing, he realised he'd been sucked into a different kind of adventure from the moment he'd arrived with the laptop which Beth had immediately commandeered. And thank god she had. "Got a torch?"
###
For a bit of a bodge-job, the end result looked impressive, Greg felt pleased as they watched the thirty-seconds of video he'd recorded on his mobile.
Joanna had found an old remnant of purple velvet which she'd draped over her potter's wheel to hide everything. The choice of pot had been left to Beth, since she was turning out to be a natural designer, not to mention a bang up webmaster.
"That one," the child pointed to a big two-handled urn with a dark blue body glaze and rich bronze veins flowing artfully from top to bottom. "It looks important."
Reaching up with both hands, Greg whistled at the weight of the thing. "This will cost a bundle to post when it sells," he said, positioning the pot in the exact centre of the velvet-covered wheel.
"When it sells," Joanna scoffed. "I doubt postage will be an issue in that case."
Ignoring her mother's self-deprecation, Beth took the torch and switched it on, pointed at Exhibit A. Greg pulled out his phone, opening the video function.
"What's the slowest speed that thing will go?" he positioned himself far enough away so that he got as much of the purple velvet in the image without losing any of the pot's details.
"I've got a foot pedal down here," Joanna pointed. "I can make it go as slow as I want."
"How about dead slow?"
"Dead slow is possible," Joanna smiled.
"Alright then ladies. What say we give this production a whirl?" Greg flicked off the big overhead light, and smiled, pleased, as an ambient streetlight glow came in from the skylight above them. The glow plus Beth's focused torch lent the whole scene an ethereal mood.
"And ... action," he grinned. As soon as the wheel started turning, he began the recording allowing two complete revolutions at normal focus, then closing in on a variety of details for two more turns, before backing out for the final revolution. At the end of five complete revolutions, he stopped recording. "Now we get to see what it looks like for real," he said, handing his phone over to Beth as she marched straight back to the ASUS.
"They've got a looping app you can use on here, Mum," she said, clicking through a convoluted series of menu items. Opening the WiFi connection, Greg's little video was soon saved to an empty drive and, from there, to a box in the middle of the new webpage. Inside a minute, the video was looped and running.
"Oh ... my goodness." Joanna pressed a hand to her mouth. "It looks ..."
"Yeah, it does." Greg watched, entranced, as the image of the dark blue urn revolved slowly and smoothly on the screen, lit with a subtle glow from above and a more brilliant light from one side. As the pot revolved, you could see how even and symmetrical it was and how rich and deep were the glazed colours.
"Told you it was easy." Beth sat back and folded her arms, incredibly smug.
"That's fantastic, Beth," Joanna breathed. "You've made it look perfectly beautiful for me. Thank you sweetheart, it's lovely."
"I've also put a hit counter and a comments box down the bottom of the page so you can see how many views you get," the child yawned suddenly. "It still needs work though."
"But not tonight," Joanna looked at her watch. "You aren't going to want to get up for school tomorrow if you don't go to sleep right this second," she said, kissing her daughter soundly on the top of her head. "Off to bed, you."
Greg was still watching the big blue pot going round and around in an endless revolving loop as Joanna set a mug of tea down in front of him.
"It's really quite ..." she paused, turning slowly to look at him.
"Magical?" Greg met her gaze steadily. "Yeah," he nodded. "It is."
"I had no idea how clever Beth had become with this stuff," Joanna sank into the seat beside his, shaking her head. "Never in a thousand years would I be able to have done half of what she managed tonight," she arched her eyebrows and sighed a little. "And of course, none of this would have happened at all without you bringing us that laptop and the webpage design program. I only hope that it's all been worthwhile. If nobody comes to look at the page, Beth's going to be awfully disappointed."
Arching his eyebrows, Greg said nothing, simply pointing to the small view-counter at the bottom of the page. It read '3'. "One of those may be us," he said. "But not all three. You've already got visitors," he grinned, pleased.
A look of mild horror crossing her face, Joanna sat down quickly. "Oh god. What if they hate my pots?" she sounded strained. "What if someone wants to buy one? What should I do? What do I do?"
"Okay, calm down a bit," Greg couldn't help but smile at her flash of panic. "First, nobody's going to hate them because they're bloody lovely, even if you can't see that," he said. "Second, if someone wants to know how much a pot costs, then you tell them and give them a way to pay you and then you send them the pot. It's not a difficult process really."
"But how much should I ask if someone wants that one?" Joanna nodded to the revolving blue pot on the screen "I have no idea what I could sell it for, truly, I haven't a clue."
Reaching for the notepad and pen he'd used the previous night, Greg started writing.
"Right then," he said. "How much did the clay and all those fancy glazes cost? And what about the electricity? And how many hours did it take you to make? And design?"
Joanna blinked and muttered numbers, Greg dutifully wrote them down. "How heavy is it?" he asked. "Got some scales anywhere?" The blue pot was carefully weighed, coming in at just under three kilos. In a second, Greg had opened the post office website and clicked on parcel post calculations.
"Here you go," he said. "Guaranteed twenty-four hour delivery, registered post with inbuilt insurance of £300 in case of loss or damage. It's even got a tracking number." Smiling triumphantly, Greg added another thirty to the list of figures on the paper. Even with everything added in together, the total was a little under sixty pounds. How much is your time worth an hour?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "No, don't bother giving me a figure 'cos it won't be enough," he said, adding in an hourly rate of £60. The total was starting to look more promising. "Still not quite there," Greg mused, tapping his nose with the pen. "Okay, now we add in creative costs."
"Creative costs?" Joanna whispered, dismayed, as she watched the total add up. It was now nearly £200. "Nobody will pay that kind of money for one of my pots," she said, shaking her head. "Not even half that amount."
Saying nothing, Greg pointed once again to the visit-counter. It now read '6'.
"Don't forget this is London," he said. "And people will pay a premium for things that are unique and beautiful," he nodded at the still-revolving pot on the screen. "And that ticks both boxes."
A brief warbling chime came from the laptop's speaker.
"What's that?" Joanna looked frazzled: had something stopped working?
"It's a message," Greg could hardly keep the elation from his face as he turned the ASUS more directly towards Joanne. "For you, I believe."
There was indeed a message.
Fantastic urn. Is it influenced by Etruscan? How tall is it? Is it for sale? How much delivered to S. Kensington or we could come and collect if more convenient. Look forward to hearing from you. Toodles.
"No." Joanna sounded as if all the wind had been taken from her sails. "No. It's not possible."
"They had to leave their email when they posted the message," Greg reasoned, pointing to the screen. "And with a Kensington location, I'd think it would be on the up and up." His grin could not be restrained as he checked his watch. "Webpage up for only what, a half-hour and you've already got a potential sale on your hands." Folding his arms, he looked as smug as Beth. "I think River Pots is looking good," he added. "Even if you only sell this one, you've already paid for the website for a whole year, as well as all your clay, unless you get really busy, of course."
"It's simply nonsensical," Joanna shook her head, an expression of utter disbelief on her face.
"It is possible and I told you it would be." Greg spoke more gently, he knew what shock looked like. "Next question is, do you want to sell this thing? If you've got an offer this soon, don't be surprised if you get more. Do you want to wait until you've got the website properly set up before you start selling?"
"How do I organise the financial side of things? People would want to be able to pay online. I don't know what to do about any of this." Lifting her eyes to his, there was an echo of panic in her tone.
"Then I suggest you leave this all for now and have a chat with your tech-savvy youngster in the morning. I'm sure Beth will have ideas on that score."
"You mean, just leave this as it is until tomorrow? I should let those people know that we've only starting developing the webpage. It would be rude not to reply to them."
"Well, you could tell them you're just setting up and it'll be a day or so before it's fully operational. If they're genuine buyers, they won't mind waiting a day."
Nodding, Joanna's shoulders relaxed at the realisation she didn't have to rush into anything quite so immediately. "I'll need to video more pots," she looked anguished again.
"Do you have any alcohol in the house?" Greg laughed. "You sound like you could do with a glass of something."
"Excellent idea," Joanna's focus returned in at the idea there was something simple to do. "I have an opened bottle of Shiraz," she said. "Fancy celebrating?"
###
He'd just returned to his office after chairing an inter-team CID briefing which had gone on longer than he'd expected. There had been significant and gratifying movement in several major cases, including the apprehension and arrest of the cleaner in the Charles Romsford murder investigation.
"I understand this came about due to some top level thinking Greg?" The Superintendent was all smiles afterwards in the now-empty meeting room. "Good to see you getting back into the thick of things."
Greg wasn't aware he'd ever left them but then, thinking back, maybe he had a bit. It had all gone grey and cloudy around him for a while, possibly quite a long while if the Super had noticed.
"Yes sir." Greg nodded. "Sorting out a few personal issues," he made an effort to sound positive.
"And have they been sorted satisfactorily, Greg?" the Superintendent's tone was unusually light. It hadn't been a secret that Angela had left him for another man, not that the event itself was a terribly unique occurrence: divorce in one way or another ended an unfortunate number of police marriages.
"I'd say so, sir." Greg squared his shoulders. "Life goes on."
"Good man." The senior officer clapped him on the back. "Heard you'd been up to the counselling people recently. It takes moral courage to seek help and you're an excellent example for some of our younger officers. Good to have you back up to strength. Your people need you."
Maintaining a straight face until he was alone, Greg pressed both hands to his face. Christ Almighty. He'd only been upstairs the once, though maybe someone had seen him and Joanna the other day at lunch. He shook his head and exhaled hard. Bunch of sodding effing gossips around here. Ah well. C'est la vie and all that. Inhaling sharply, Greg lifted his head and straightened his back. What he'd said to the Super had been dead on. He was sorting things out, maybe not all at once, but he felt as though things were moving slowly towards the better and it'd be wrong to pretend otherwise.
The phone in his pocket rang. Glancing, he saw it was Joanna's number. Smiling as he opened the call, he wondered if she was still as worried about selling her pots as she had been the previous night.
"Greg, I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you during working hours, but there's a problem at Beth's school."
Adrenaline flooding through his body, his mind raced through various awful scenarios. "Is she safe? Is she hurt?"
"Apparently, there was some kind of a confrontation and she's locked herself in a metalwork room." Joanna kept her voice low and steady though he could tell it was an effort. "I'm at the school now, but she won't speak to me, she insists on speaking to you, something to do with a comment you made when you fixed the lock. I know you're going to be too busy, but I promised her I'd ask. Is there any way you can come and talk to her?"
"At the academy in Bermondsey?" Greg check his watch. It was a little before three in the afternoon. At this time of day, traffic across the river would be heavy; any normal run from the Embankment would need to go round the Elephant and Castle and road congestion was always sticky there. Fortunately, it didn't need to be a normal run. "I can get there in ten minutes if I use the siren," he said, already striding back to his small office for his coat. "Tell Beth I'm on my way."
###
Note: Once again, it is the time of year when I am increasingly bogged down in the black and murky abyss that is assignment marking and am likely to be for the next month or so. Updates may be slower than usual for a while.