by Chris Harris
A Facebook Marketplace furniture sale turns into a nightmare when a charming buyer claims woodworm. Isaac discovers a scam far bigger than he imagined.
Isaac and Rosie had no children, so they doted on their younger brother’s two children, Zach and Nicholas. It was a crushing blow when, two years ago, Nicholas committed suicide while at university.
It began the decline of Isaac’s relationship with his brother, whom he had warned for years about Nicholas’s addiction to his mobile phone and social media, which his brother had always played down. Even when Nicholas was on antidepressants and clearly struggling with his degree, Isaac would go down to Exeter to visit him, to check he was all right. His brother just thought he was a fool playing up to him, until Nicholas hanged himself.
His brother blamed his son’s penchant for alcohol and soft drugs, and the mixing of these with antidepressants, for his death, absolving himself of neglecting to deal with the root cause of it, which Isaac believed was the glaring harm that social media had caused him.
Over the two years since the death, Isaac had been unable to come to terms with it, and the pair took the decision that, with no real family between them in the UK, they could fast-forward their dream of moving to France.
Isaac had been in ethical finance, and Rosie a teacher; the dream was to move to France, buy a smallholding with a barn, set up a Brocante for both of them (they spent hours a week trawling the internet for all of the antique programmes, blogs and videos), and become self-sufficient in food and live off the land.
They found a place in Normandy near Alençon that, because it was in a relatively remote area, though on a busy road for the potential business, was very cheap. So they could buy that and a small house to keep in the UK.
They weren’t going to take their furniture down with them. They wanted to buy rustic, vintage French country furniture to furnish the house and move their existing furniture into the smaller UK house, leaving a dozen pieces behind. None of them was particularly special, mostly mid-century and well-made pine.
They considered donating it to a charity shop and having them pick it up, but reasoned they could get 500 quid by flogging it on Facebook Marketplace.
One of the things they planned to do when they moved to France was to give up social media entirely in homage to Nicholas. So this would be the last throw of the die.
They’d bought and sold on Facebook Marketplace before, so knew it was a pain in the arse. It was free to use because it let Facebook raise money without any real administration; it was a platform for private negotiation and, as such, a place to see the full cross-section of good and bad human behaviour.
Facebook Marketplace customers are divided into four. Thirty per cent are just normal; they see something, contact you, arrange to collect and pay you. Perfect. The next thirty per cent are a tad scatterbrained and disorganised but mean well; they mess you about a bit, but they have no agenda other than to pay you what you want and collect the item; they just make it bloody hard work. Then the larger thirty-nine point five per cent. They use the relaxed format of negotiation and non-commitment to paying in advance as a tool for hard-nosed further negotiation and exploitation: they agree to buy, but are clearly still looking for something even cheaper elsewhere; they draw you into the sale and generally renege on arrangements, and then simply don’t turn up to collect, citing the old chestnut, “I had to go to the hospital,” or “my car broke down.” Facebook Marketplace users are the unhealthiest and hospital-prone people in Britain, with the most unreliable cars. Then there is the one per cent, the complete shit.
The shenanigans and final two thirds are free to read here on my other blog:
Make both our days by buying a copy of my book!
Something About England: Amazon.co.uk: Harris, Mr Christopher, Turner, Louise: 9798181129351: Books
Welcome to Denham, a fictitious Sussex village where behind respectable doors, well-tended gardens and familiar faces, things have a habit of going badly wrong.
Obsession, ambition, deception, jealousy and petty rivalry run through this collection of tragi-comical and satirical short stories. From poltergeists and lottery winners to cricket club feuds and environmental disasters, ordinary people embark on discovering just how quickly an ordinary life can unravel into an extraordinary mess.
Darkly funny, occasionally poignant and populated by characters who are rarely quite what they seem, these stories explore the peculiarities of Middle England, and the uncomfortable territory between respectability and ruin.
