The Real Deal

Colin Lipsedge had been fascinated by coins since he was a child. He couldn’t explain why. He just loved the way they felt, and their metallic smell. He knew people thought he was strange. He had heard them talking in the office, but pretended not to notice. He stared at his computer screen, wishing five o’clock would come, so he could go home and look at his collection.

The coins gave him a comfort that nothing else could. He would spend hours sorting them into categories by their size, colour, date, country and denomination. His dream was to one day own a gold one. A Victorian sovereign, perhaps.

But there was one old coin in his collection he couldn’t categorise. It was silver-coloured and the size of a shilling, but its markings were like nothing he had ever seen before. He would turn it over and over, peering at it under a magnifying glass, trying to decipher the date and inscription. He trawled through books about coins and searched the internet, but without success. There had to be someone out there who knew what it was.

One evening after work, Colin decided he was going to find out about the coin once and for all. He took the coin from its plastic pocket and washed it in warm soapy water, patting it dry with a towel. He placed it carefully on a blue velvet cushion and photographed it, first one side, then the other. He uploaded the pictures on to his laptop.

“Can anyone help me identify my coin?” he typed, on his coin collectors’ forum. “I found it on the beach a year ago and would love to know what it is and if it’s worth anything.”

The next morning Colin went to work as usual. By ten o’clock he could stand it no longer. He had to check the site to see if anyone had replied to his message. His heart leapt when he saw the posting.

 “Hello, Colin,” it said. “Your coin is a Spanish Felipe Real from the 16^th Century. It probably came from the Juan de Flores, which sank off the coast of Britain in 1588. It’s a rare find ...”

There was more. Colin scrolled down.

“ ... if genuine, it could fetch around £3,000,000 at auction.”

Colin could hardly believe what he was seeing. £3,000,000! He could feel his palms beginning to sweat.

             “All right there, Colin?” It was Simon Highworthy, the office joker. “You look a bit flushed. Not coming down with anything are you?”

             “Now you come to mention it, I do feel a bit peaky. Think I might knock off early.”

Colin switched off his computer, pulled his jacket on and headed straight for the door.

             “Something you said?” said Marcus Hackman, his colleague.

             “Not guilty, yer honour,” said Simon.

As soon as Colin got home he logged on to his laptop. There it was in black and white on his screen: £3,000,000. He sat back in his chair and began to daydream about what he could do with all that money. He pictured himself walking into his boss’s office the next morning and handing in his notice. He could see the look on Simon’s and Marcus’s faces, as he told them he wasn’t coming back.

But then a thought occurred to him: suppose the coin was a fake? He typed in the question. Seconds later a reply popped up: “I would need to look at it more closely. Can we meet?”

They arranged to meet that evening at the Hilton. Colin wrapped his coin carefully in tissue paper and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, which he zipped up to his neck.

He went into the hotel bar as arranged and ordered a pint of beer. He settled himself down on a bar stool, sipped at his beer, and waited.

            “Hi, Colin!” came a voice from behind him. Colin swung round. It was Simon.

            “You!” said Colin. “I might have known.”

            “Come on, mate. That’s no way to greet your favourite colleague!”

            “Okay. You win,” said Colin, draining his glass. “I really fell for it this time.”

            “What are you talking about, mate?”

            “You know very well what I mean.”

            “Can’t a man enjoy a quiet drink after work?”

            “Hmmph.”

            “Come on, let me buy you another pint. Hey, wait a minute - aren’t you supposed to be ill? Oh, I get it – you pulled a sickie, didn’t you?”

“You could say that.”

“Look, Colin. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but maybe we should call a truce. Half the time it’s Marcus egging me on.”

“You can’t blame it all on him.”

“No you’re right. Come on, let’s shake hands and put it all behind us.”

Colin reluctantly agreed. They finished their drinks and went their separate ways.

On his walk home Colin cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? He’d really fallen for it this time. He decided to take a longer route home. He needed to clear his head. The route took him over an old bridge, with a river flowing beneath it.

He took the coin from his pocket, unwrapped it and flung it in the river. No one was ever going to make a fool of him like that again.

It was getting dark when he finally got home. He logged on to the coin forum. There was a message waiting for him.

“Sorry I missed you, Colin,” it said. “My car broke down, so I never made it to the hotel. I tried to phone but the battery ran out. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I asked a collector friend for a second opinion. He’s an expert in old Spanish coins. He says he can see from the photo that your coin’s the real deal. You’ve hit the jackpot, my friend.”