b8d1526d-8345-54b8-9b24-4cf03bc8b3d0">
A RANDOM ACT OF KINDNESS
Sophie Jenkins
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2019
Copyright © Sophie Jenkins 2019
Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com
Sophie Jenkins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008281830
Ebook Edition © 2019 ISBN: 9780008281854
Version: 2019-05-20
Dedicated to Rowena Jenkins
19.10.1931–3.12.2018
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Lot 1
Lot 2
Lot 3
Lot 4
Kim
Lot 5
Lot 6
Kim
Lot 7
Kim
Lot 8
Lot 9
Kim
Lot 10
Lot 11
Lot 12
Lot 13
Lot 14
Kim
Lot 15
Lot 16
Kim
Lot 17
Lot 18
Kim
Lot 19
Lot 20
Lot 21
Lot 22
Lot 23
Kim
Lot 24
Lot 25
Kim
Lot 26
Lot 27
Lot 28
Lot 29
Kim
Cato Hamilton Auctioneers & Fern Banks Vintage Auction Catalogue
Acknowledgements
Also by Sophie Jenkins
About the Publisher
A Chanel-style black-and-white cotton tweed suit with bracelet-length sleeves, double ‘C’ gilt buttons, chain-weighted hem and matching skirt.
Most stories start with action. This isn’t one of them. Mine starts with indecision. It’s a warm Sunday evening and I’m dragging my wheelie case over the cobbled stones of Camden Market, pondering the big issues of my life. Can I really make a living selling vintage dresses from one small stand? Should I call in at Cotton’s Rhum Shack to cheer myself up before going home?
The din of the case rattling on the cobbles is attracting some negative attention from passers-by in an annoyed ‘What the hell is that noise?’ kind of way. It’s a cheap black suitcase, with nothing going for it except that it’s big enough to carry my stock of frocks.
I come out through the imposing arch of Stables Market onto the busy Chalk Farm Road and I stand on the kerb, still undecided. Quick drink? Across the way, the lights in Cotton’s Rhum Shack are gleaming. It’s snug and inviting, located between a music shop and one selling white crockery. Right now, there’s a gap in the traffic and I’ve got the chance to dash across. Still, something makes me hesitate. It’s been a long day and I haven’t sold much so the case is heavy. If I turn right past the Lock and trundle my case along the towpath, I’ll be home. I can hang up the dresses, kick off my shoes, undo my fitted jacket and relax. Simple choice. Drink, or home?
Before I reach a decision, a woman coming along the pavement catches my eye. I see her now exactly as I did the first time we met, in a series of close-ups – the scarlet lips, the little Chanel suit, the black silk turban covering her dark hair, her sharp little face, faux pearls, a black patent handbag with intertwined Cs hanging from the crook of her elbow. She wears the outfit as naturally as if it’s her skin. It is the perfect fit. With the tick-tick-tick of her heels, she’s a combination of sound and vision – that confident, moneyed walk; chin tilted upwards, completely self-contained except for the way her eyes flick slyly towards me to gauge the effect she’s having.
I’ve imagined this moment for a long time.
I feel a surge of happiness and forget about the Rhum Shack. This is my chance to thank her, I decide, for the way she changed my life one day a few years ago.
I was very down at the time; stuck in a dark place. What turned me around was that she noticed me, a total stranger, when I thought I was invisible; she saw through my misery to the person I wanted to be; she told me in a few kind, well-chosen words how to be the person I could be.
I want her to see my transformation.
Transformation!