Handbag with a secret: a story from the repair cafe

WOKINGHAM Repair Cafe has been fixing many items since its launch in 2024.

Cafe volunteer Jo, who is also a writer, said: “From sentimental heirlooms to practical fixes on everyday objects about the house, there has been such variety and each item has its own story, though some tales are more exotic than others.”

Inspired by what people bring in, Jo has written a short story, here below:

It’s a stitch up

The leather handbag looked old and worn, but its elderly owner was determined to get more years out of it.

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“My daughter keeps telling me to buy a new one,” Muriel said, rolling her eyes. “And I keep telling her I don’t want a new one. It’s served me well for decades.“ She crossed her arms, mind made up. “Where I go, it goes.”

Across the repair table, Sophie took the bag and examined it.

“And it’s just the inside pocket that needs mending?” she asked.

Muriel was her first customer at that month’s repair cafe.

Around them, the church hall was slowly filling but it seemed quieter than usual.

“That’s right. The seam’s torn so I can’t use it without losing things into the lining. I’d sew it myself, but my fingers aren’t so good these days.”

“Not to worry. It won’t take me long,” Sophie smiled.

It was only her second time volunteering as a repairer and, despite her initial nerves, she thrived on the challenge.

She set to work, carefully turning the old bag inside out and trying to find the best angle to get to the pocket’s seam.

She paused, pinching the base of the bag between finger and thumb.

“I think you’ve lost something in the lining already,” she said.

“There’s a lump here.”

“Have I? Goodness knows what that will be,” frowned Muriel.

“Probably a mint humbug.”

Sophie opened the pocket as far as it would allow and aimed her desk light inside.

“I see it’s already been repaired before,” she said, noting the slightly different colour thread in one corner.

“No, I don’t think so,” Muriel answered.

Sophie raised an eyebrow.

The stitches in the broken corner had been sewn with a darker cream colour than the rest of the white stitching, but she didn’t argue.

The previous repair had come undone and now there was an inch-long gap in the seam.

She unpicked the loose, cream thread.

“Let’s see what you’ve lost in here,” she murmured and started to manipulate the bag to push the mysterious lump towards the hole.

Suddenly, with a little plop, a small, round metallic device fell onto the table. Both women stared at it in surprise.

“What on earth’s that?” Muriel asked, confused.

Sophie turned it over, revealing an Apple icon.

She felt herself tense.

She had a suspicion she knew exactly what it was.

“Hold on.” She gestured at Paul who was passing her table on his way back to his electrical repair corner.

“Paul, do you know what this is?”

He came over, eyebrows raised. His eyes landed on the small round object.

“That’s an AirTag,” he said, looking between the two women.

“Doesn’t it work?”

“What’s an AirTag?” asked Muriel.

“It’s a tracking device,” he explained.

Sophie grimaced.

She’d thought as much.

She looked at her customer in concern, then back at Paul.

Judging from the sudden change in his expression, he’d quickly caught up. Someone was tracking this woman without her knowing it.

There was a moment’s silence as they all took in the implications.

Then suddenly Muriel threw her head back and laughed.

“Oh! That’ll be my daughter, Janet, the little devil!”

“Your daughter is tracking you?” Paul asked.

Muriel waved her hands in the air in exasperation.

“She means well, but, goodness me, how she fusses! I had a fall a few months ago and now she wants me to take a mobile phone everywhere. I do try, but I never remember the darn thing.”

Relieved, Sophie felt her body relax.

“She must have slipped it into the lining and tried to sew it back up again,” she said.

“What do you want to do with it?”

Muriel picked up the AirTag and weighed it in her palm, thinking.

“It’s no hardship to carry it if it stops her fretting,” she answered.

Then she smiled, eyes alive with mischief.

“But first, I think it’s time Janet was taught a lesson.

My postman is a lovely young man.

I’m sure he won’t mind taking it on his rounds for a day.”