A Pocketful of Holes and Dreams (27 page)

As we neared the accountancy firm’s building on our way back, trying to lighten the moment, I pulled the £1,000 out of my pocket. Showing it to Gina, I said, ‘I haven’t lost my touch yet, even with all this aggro going on around me.’ The humour did us both good, and we laughed heartily.

Back in the office, we were told, ‘Mr and Mrs Pearce, there is something terribly unusual about your accounts.’

We looked at him in disbelief. ‘In what way?’ I asked, but I didn’t really want to hear his reply.

‘You don’t owe anyone any money. There is a small amount of VAT and PAYE still owing, but that is hardly worth talking about.’ He paused for a moment, looking at us both. ‘In fact, there is only the bank to settle with, and they hold the deeds to your house as collateral. So you now stand to lose your home.’

He sat back in his chair, removed his glasses and continued in a quieter tone.‘Most companies I come in contact with in liquidation situations such as this would have paid off their personal guarantees, that is, their bank loans, rather than paying their creditors. But your accounts show that you have paid the factories which you dealt with well in excess of the outstanding balance you owe to the bank. And you have done this recently.’ He fell silent, waiting for my reply.

I chose my words carefully. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ I explained. ‘Just because the bank have shafted me doesn’t mean that I have to shaft somebody else.’

He looked at me in surprise, then smiled at my summary of the whole affair. ‘Right. I cannot see any need to hold a creditors’ meeting and will therefore tie up all the loose ends before writing to you in due course.’

Walking us to the door, he thanked us for having chosen his company to handle our affairs and shook hands. As we left, I couldn’t help but think that must have been the easiest £3,000 he had ever earned.

24. A Silent Prayer Answered

Gina and I shared the car home together, but little else. We were both lost in our thoughts, and conversation seemed unimportant. I had made eighteen successful business decisions in my life, but the nineteenth collapsed like a house of cards and cost me everything.

It all boiled down to one thing: the fundamental difference between being a retailer and a wholesaler. As a retailer, you get credit from your suppliers but don’t have to give credit to your customers. However, I was a wholesaler, and therefore did not get credit from my suppliers but had to give it to my customers. It was a no-win situation.

I felt a strange sense of relief in a way now that these last few months were over. But I was deeply scarred inside by what had happened and the way I had been betrayed by the bank. What it had done to me was immoral and cruel. In fact, comparing the bank to some of the more colourful characters I had met in my life, I could honestly say that there was indeed greater honour amongst thieves. The greatest sense of betrayal however was my own. I had placed my family in a privileged world where they could have anything money could buy, and now I had taken it all away. I could never forgive myself for losing our home, and now I felt sick at the thought of having to remove Katie and Faye from the private school which they loved so much.

My ambition had brought us to this point. And my ambition had lost it all. My need to succeed and my desire to prove my worth had put my family in this situation. It was unforgivable. At forty years old, I was a failure, lost, with nowhere to go, a man alone. I silently said the first of many prayers to my mother, asking for help.

The next couple of weeks were living hell. Despair drove me almost to the point of suicide. Trapped in this nightmare, all I could do was hope that my mother could hear me. One night, as I lay in bed, it happened.

‘Stop crying and feeling sorry for yourself. You did it once before, and you can do it again.’ Her voice was so clear it shocked me into sitting up. ‘You can do it. You can do it.’ She was repeating this simple phrase over and over in my head.

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I saw that it was 5 a.m. Confused and uncertain as to what was going on, I went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. Suddenly it all became clear: Mum wanted me to go back to the markets and start all over again.

My brain kicked into action. Questions struck me, and answers followed. What day was it today? Friday. Where did I go on a Friday? Park Road Market. Did I have stock? Yes, in the garage left over from the liquidation … and so it went on. Like a man possessed, I threw on some clothes, waking Gina in the process.

‘Jeff, what are you up to?’ she murmured.

‘I’m going back to do it again,’ I answered.

‘Do what?’ She was sitting up now.

‘I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tonight.’ I hurtled down the stairs, grabbing my keys on my way out. I opened the garage and threw box after box into the back of the wagon. Slamming the back doors closed, I headed out on to the main road.

I had only gone a short distance when a flashing red light on the dashboard caught my attention. Glancing down, I saw the diesel gauge was on empty. This was all I needed! Pulling into the nearest service station, I jumped out and felt for my wallet, but – shit! – in my haste, I’d forgotten it. With not a penny in my pocket – nor, for that matter, in the world – and no time to spare, I put £10 worth of diesel in the tank. I walked up to the window patting my pockets, creating the impression that I was panicking and looking for something. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I seem to have come out without my wallet.’

‘Well, that wagon’s not going anywhere, mate,’ the cashier replied. This was not going to be easy.

‘Don’t be silly, it’s only £10,’ I argued. ‘I’ll call back later with it.’

‘Against the rules, mate. Can’t let you do that.’ Time was ticking on.

‘Look,’ I said, undoing the strap on my Rolex and handing it over. ‘Take this as security, with my name and address.’

He picked up the watch suspiciously, looking at it closely. ‘How do I know this is worth ten quid?’

I sighed. ‘What difference does it make if it isn’t?’

‘A lot,’ he replied. Taking a pen and paper, he made a careful note of my registration number and contact details. I was half expecting him to take my fingerprints, the way he was carrying on.

Climbing back in the cab, I thought about what he’d said. Worth a tenner? What a cheek! Gina had paid three and a half grand for it. Still, I had the juice, and I was on my way, foot to the metal, anxiously heading towards Liverpool, back to where it had all begun. After fifteen years’ absence, I was curious about how I’d be greeted by my former colleagues. As I got closer to the market, I could feel how familiar it still was, and as I pulled into the busy car park, it almost seemed as if I’d never been away.

The traders were busy, rushing around, putting up their stalls. Time was of the essence – the quicker they were up, the sooner the traders could empty their vans and set out their goods ready for the day’s trading.

Weaving my way through the bustle, I headed for the market inspector’s office to see if there was a pitch available; I was desperately hoping it would be someone I knew. Luckily, it was. Ken had been the first inspector I had met, all those years ago. ‘Hi, Jeff!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I answered, ‘and I promise I’ll tell you later. But right now, I need a pitch.’

‘It’s going to be hard,’ he said, ‘this close to Christmas, but let’s see what we can do.’ Picking up his clipboard, he headed outside, telling me to follow. I silently sent a word of thanks to my mother for the words of wisdom she had given me when I first started: ‘Look after people as you move up the ladder of success, because you never know who you might meet on the way down.’ If ever there was a true saying, this was it.

Ken turned to me. ‘Right, Jeff, where are you parked?’

I pointed to my wagon, some twenty yards away.

‘A horsebox!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you selling? Horse meat?’ Then he read the words on the side: ‘“Jaguar Polo Team”?! Polo horses in Toxteth? That’s a first!’

He instructed me to turn the wagon around, dropping the tailgate on to an empty space between two stalls, and to trade out of the back.

‘Thanks, Ken,’ I told him. ‘I owe you one!’

As I set up my pitch, I couldn’t help but notice that my arrival with the horsebox had caused a bit of a commotion. Several other traders were standing around watching, and the buzz of conversation was getting louder and louder. One of them must have recognized me, as I heard him telling the others, ‘You know who that is, don’t you? Jeff Pearce, that’s who.’

‘Get away with it, he’s a millionaire. He wouldn’t be here. Not nowadays.’

I heard my name being called out, so I stopped and looked up. There was a chorus of disbelieving voices: ‘It
is
him. What are you doing here, Mr Big Time?’

‘The same as you, lads: trying to make a living,’ I answered, but they wouldn’t give up.

‘Don’t be daft,’ they said. ‘We have to be here. You don’t.’

Like a helpless fish, I felt hooked. Slightly irritated by their comments, I just said, ‘Look, lads, if I didn’t need to be here, I wouldn’t be. So back off and leave me alone!’ That did it, and they took the hint and left.

Once I’d cleared the boxes out of the wagon, I realized there was horse manure all over the floor. I needed to get it sorted so that customers could come inside and try things on. I borrowed a brush and shovel, and a can of air freshener to get rid of the smell. At least the boxes held a pleasant surprise: they were full of good-quality jumpers I’d personally designed some six months earlier.

It didn’t take me long to get back into character. ‘Come on, girls,’ I called out. ‘Hurry up and take a look. They’re first-class and going fast. Step up and have a look! A tenner a piece or two for fifteen! Don’t be shy, come and buy! Jeff’s my name, fashion’s my game.’

To draw a crowd is difficult, but to keep it is an art. You have to create a feeling of excitement and desire amongst the punters. Never sell to them, let them buy from you. The banter amongst the people on the market went back and forth, Liverpool humour at its best. One woman called out to her friend, ‘Go on, Mary! You’ve always wanted a roll in the hay! Get in there, you dirty mare!’ and everyone burst out laughing.

In no time, my hands were full of £10 notes. My fellow traders looked on in awe; I was tossing garments at the customers as quickly as they could call out the size and colour they wanted. By the end of the day, I was exhausted, but my bulging pockets were clearly telling me I had ‘done the business’. Not forgetting to call in at the office to pay my rent, I slipped Ken an extra tenner and thanked him for his help. ‘No problem, Jeff!’ he answered. ‘Same again next week?’

‘Yes, please,’ I answered, smiling.

As I set off on the one-hour journey home, I felt good about myself for the first time in ages. I couldn’t wait to tell Gina the good news and I sang along to familiar songs on the radio all the way home – not forgetting to stop off at the service station to redeem my watch, of course.

Gina was sitting with Katie and Faye, helping them with their homework. She gave me her usual kiss hello, asking where I had been all this time. Emptying my pockets on to the kitchen table in a big heap, I just said, ‘Gina, we’re back!’ The four of us then set about counting the money. There was £750 – enough, I reckoned, to get us back into business.

Lying in bed that night, I couldn’t stop thinking what a difference one day had made. In less than twenty-four hours my life had gone back fifteen years. Events had fallen into place in the most bizarre manner, and being back amongst my customers had restored my self-esteem. I now had a purpose again. I was ready to continue on my journey.

I have never been a religious or superstitious person. But my belief that my mother was looking out for me became even stronger that day when I returned to the markets.

25. Jeff of all Trades

During the couple of weeks after Tickled Pink was forced into liquidation, the telephone at home never stopped ringing. Factories I had dealt with were offering to back me in a new business, one managing director even wanting to go into partnership with me. It seemed to prove that honesty was indeed the best policy. Thanking them, however, for their kindness, I declined their offers. Gina was my partner in business, as she was in my life.

My first priority was to get some money coming in regularly, so I sold the horsebox and bought a decent van for the markets.

That first month back was the worst, as I had to listen to the snide comments of the other traders. They all felt that I’d had my chance to make it big, and that I’d never be able to do it again. As far as they were concerned, I was now there to stay. I was also made to feel as if I had let them down in some way. Everyone had looked up to me and talked about my success, and it gave them hope of doing well themselves one day. Now that I had failed, their dreams were shattered too.

The fashion wholesalers in Manchester were more sympathetic and accommodating. Mrs Kumar, who had supplied me all those years ago, gave me as much credit as I needed to get me started again.

My next priority was to find a home for my family. I didn’t want to uproot Katie and Faye from their school if I could help it, nor did I want to return to Liverpool. There were also their pet ponies and our eight polo ponies to think about, not to mention two dogs and a cat. I would have to find a way to make the ponies pay, or I’d be forced to get rid of them.

We needed something with a bit of land, and it had to be cheap. At first, Gina and I looked for places to rent but, unfortunately, there was nothing out there. The situation was urgent: the bank had sold our home and given us notice to vacate.

The only property available was an old run-down veterinary practice which had several acres of land and twelve stables. And it was situated right next to the Cheshire Polo Club.

I convinced myself and Gina that I could turn it into a polo school. We could even take on liveries, looking after people’s horses. I had become a highly proficient horseman over the years, and it seemed to be a perfect solution. The only drawback was that it was on the market for £200,000!