Tailor Trash

Tailor. (this was in response to the daily one word prompt given by WordPress – Tailor).

It was late on a sunny Saturday afternoon when I pushed through the crowds at the local car boot sale, hoping to pick up some vinyl albums for my record player. I couldn’t wait to update my collection with some old classics; Bad Company, Thin Lizzy maybe even some classic 80’s pop tunes.

“Hey, I love the jacket.”

I spun around to see a wild-haired, bearded man smiling at me.

“The jacket,” he nodded. “My guess is it’s an original Yves Saint Laurent? Late 60s?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised he could tell.

“I’m a tailor and I love working with vintage clothes. They just don’t make them like that anymore,” he said.

Looking at his stall, I saw an ancient treadle sewing machine and boxes of coloured threads. The sign said “Stitched Up”.

“This is my Singer machine,” he said. “I still use this to do all the alterations.”

I laughed, thinking how time consuming that must be.

“Can I see your jacket?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said, taking it off and handing it to him.

I watched as he examined it closely.

“It’s stunning. It must have made quite a dent in your piggy bank,” he said, stroking it as if it was a puppy.

“Actually, it was my mum’s. I found it packed away in the attic along with some other nice pieces, but sadly, it’s getting worn out. Look,” I said, pointing to a bursting seam.

He looked closer.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I could easily fix that for you.”

“Really?” I said. “How much would it cost?” I asked, aware I’d only brought £50 with me.

“For you… I’ll do it for £20.”

“Great.” I said, relieved. “When can you do it?”

“I could do it now, if you can give me half an hour.”

“That’s so kind. I’ll go and collect my albums and be back around three thirty,” I said, checking my watch.

“It’ll be ready and waiting for you,” he said, with a cheeky grin.

It was a little more than forty minutes later when I made my way back to his stall. Turning the corner my stomach sank. The stall was empty. I ran over to the man two stalls down from him.

“Do you know where he went?” I said, gesturing to the ‘Stitched Up’ stall.

“He’s new here. I’ve never seen him before,” he said, shaking his head. “He packed up and left quite quickly. Are you alright Miss?”

“What have I done?” I said, biting my lip.

“You know, come to think of it, Ali from the burger van was talking last week about someone who mends vintage clothing,” he said, rubbing his chin.

I looked over to where he was pointing but the burger van was gone.

“What did he say about him?”

“He said there had been complaints about a guy who claimed to mend designer clothes, but disappeared with both the clothes and the deposits left for them.”

There was only one thing left to do. I took out my mobile and phoned the police, giving a perfect description of him and telling them that he was trying to sell me, what I believed to be, stolen goods. One item was a brown, suede designer jacket, the other was a diamond and emerald bracelet. Both items looked similar to articles shown on last night’s crime programme apparently stolen from a local antique business.

I heard he was caught in a local hotel later that evening. Both the jacket and the bracelet were recovered. I smiled. I couldn’t have planned it better; that bracelet was becoming too hot to handle. Now I could get on with the business of selling the rest of the haul.

 

 

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