‘I love it here,’ I said.
Dad laughed. ‘It’s an eighth of the size of our old house and has no garden but I know what you mean. I love it too.’
Tasmin and Clover came over the next morning to have the flat tour and both gave it the thumbs-up. They’d brought house-warming presents too: a bunch of flowers from Clover and a couple of mags from Tasmin.
‘She’s read them both,’ said Clover as she flopped on my bed.
‘It’s the thought,’ said Tasmin as she opened my wardrobe and had a nosey inside. ‘Tidy huh? So, new house. I can’t tell you how fab it is to have my room back as well.’
‘I can imagine,’ I said.
‘And we have some news for you,’ said Tasmin. ‘Well not exactly news but I managed to persuade Jess Bendall to ask her mum, who’s school secretary, to let me have a list of all the names of girls at our school.’ She pulled out a sheaf of A4 paper and gave it to me.
‘We trawled through it last night,’ Clover added. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many Sarahs there are at our school. Forty.’
‘Do you think we should contact them all?’ I asked.
‘Yep. We found a few on our school’s Facebook page and we’ve sent them messages. Eight have replied. Not them, so they’re off this list.’
‘Wow, thanks,’ I said. I was really touched that they’d spent so much time looking for me.
‘We’re a team,’ said Tasmin. ‘And you’re not the only one with detective skills.’
‘And if Sarah’s not at our school, we can start on the others in the area,’ said Clover. ‘There are loads of schools in Bath.’
‘That’s if she lives in Bath,’ I said. ‘What if she’s from Bristol?’
Tasmin gave me a stern look. ‘We have to start somewhere,’ she said.
‘Hey, why don’t we start a detective agency when we leave school?’ I said. ‘With our combined skills, we’d be brilliant.’
‘Nah. I want to go on my gap year,’ said Tasmin.
‘And I want to open my vintage shop,’ said Clover. ‘Or do something in fashion.’
‘Talking of which, we were thinking on the way over that we should do a makeover on you,’ Tasmin continued as she pulled out a few of my clothes. ‘Get you wearing some colour.’
‘You were thinking,’ said Clover. ‘I think she’s fine as she is.’
Tasmin rolled her eyes. ‘You’re joking. I mean look at this stuff in here – navy, cream, white, navy, navy, navy, boring. You dress like a nun, Paige.’
‘Thanks, Tasmin. I’m glad you approve. But makeover? To what?’
Tasmin looked me up and down. ‘Not sure yet. You could be really good-looking if you tried.’
Clover burst out laughing. ‘You have some cheek, Tas.’
I laughed too. I was getting used to Tasmin’s outspokenness and decided to give her some of her own medicine. I looked at her in exactly the same way she’d been looking at me. Up and down. Critically. Her orange face. Make-up. The hair extensions.
‘What? What?’ she asked.
‘OK. A makeover. If I let you do a makeover on me, you have to let me do one on you.’
Tasmin looked shocked.
‘Touché, Tas,’ said Clover. ‘You’ve met your match.’
‘Yes but I don’t need a makeover.’
I gave her a look as if to say, ‘Yeah right’. ‘OK, but you could be a very attractive girl if you wanted.’
Clover cracked up. ‘Now then girls,’ she said.
‘So what do I need to change?’ asked Tasmin. ‘Seriously, come on.’
For a moment, I hesitated. I didn’t want to upset her but then I knew she wouldn’t hold back when it was my turn. ‘OK. Mainly I’d tone it down. The make-up for a start. You wear too much and you really don’t need to. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning and know that you’ve got a very pretty face.’
‘Don’t try and sugar it. What else?’ Tasmin demanded.
‘Your hair looks scruffy with those extensions. I’d like to see it with a gloss on it. Get rid of them.’
Clover gasped. ‘Go girl. And . . . actually I agree.’
Tasmin turned to her. ‘You’re supposed to be my friend!’
‘I am,’ Clover replied, ‘but if you’re going to dish it, you got to eat it too.’
Tasmin made a rude gesture with her fingers by way of reply.
‘And I’d put you in something prettier too,’ I continued. ‘Not girlie but . . . mm, I’m not sure about the dress style I’d pick for you, but I’d definitely get rid of the heels you wear outside school. You struggle in them, they’re throwing your back out and you don’t walk in an attractive way because of it.’
When I saw that Tasmin’s jaw was on her chest, I thought I’d better stop. The part of me that was growing more confident seemed to be coming more to the fore lately but I didn’t want to lose friends over it. I was going to mention the fake eyelashes, but all in good time. I glanced at Clover who had suddenly decided that there was something really interesting out the window and started humming in a casual way, though I could see she was really having a hard time not cracking up laughing again.
‘OK,’ said Tasmin. ‘The gauntlet has been thrown. You make me over. I don’t have to dress your way forever but I’m open to new ideas. I’ll show you I am. And in the same way, you have to let me dress you for a day.’
Clover looked back into the room. ‘I’ve had a great idea. Frome. Let’s go to Frome.’
‘What’s Frome? A dress shop?’
Clover shook her head. ‘It’s a town not far from here.’
‘We can get the train,’ said Tasmin and looked in her purse. ‘I’ve got enough.’
‘Me too,’ said Clover.
‘How much do I need?’ I asked.
‘About a fiver,’ said Tasmin. ‘Brilliant idea, Clover.’
‘So what’s in Frome?’ I asked.
But Clover and Tasmin were already on their feet ready to go. ‘You’ll find out,’ said Clover.
Chapter Eighteen
After I’d let Mum and Dad know where I was going, Tasmin, Clover and I caught the train from Bath Spa. Tasmin and Clover sat on the right of the compartment and I took a seat on the left by the window. As they texted mates and chatted away, I listened to my iPod and gazed out of the window. Woodlands, canals, pretty villages flashed by, then a town called Bradford-on-Avon which looked like a mini Bath with rows and rows of old houses going up the hills.
‘What you listening to?’ asked Clover from over the aisle.
I shrugged. ‘It’s on random,’ I replied. Actually I was listening to Songs for Sarah again. I was so familiar with it now that I knew almost all the tracks word for word. I didn’t want to admit to Clover or Tasmin how many times I’d listened to it in case they thought I was getting obsessive. But I was obsessed with it. I couldn’t help myself. Every time I heard the lyrics in the songs, I felt that they had been chosen for me. I wondered for the hundredth time where was the boy who had made it? Even though I knew that Alex would soon be down in Bath, I couldn’t help but doubt that he would ever really fancy me or that anything could happen between us.
Mystery Boy was my fantasy and in my imagination, he was perfect, we were made for each other and I didn’t have to worry if I said the wrong thing or didn’t look cool enough because it was all in my head, a daydream where I controlled what happened. It gave me a buzz to think that he was alive somewhere and that he had a life, friends, a family, a bedroom. What was he doing at this moment? Having a lie-in? Or out with mates somewhere enjoying the sun? Or maybe, like me, travelling on a train gazing out of a window? Or maybe he was with Sarah? Or had she dumped him or not been interested? That made sense or else why would the CD have ended up in a charity shop? If I’d been given the CD, I would have treasured it and never given it away.
I opened one eye to see what Clover and Tasmin were doing. They were still busy chatting so I went back to my thoughts. It made me feel good to think of the boy
as real with a life somewhere as well as in my dreams. So, I asked myself, had he been disappointed or rejected by Sarah? Whatever had happened, he was somewhere living, breathing and possibly, not a million miles from Bath. I was sure we’d meet one day. I started to daydream how that would be. Would it be at a gig? In a coffee shop? At school? Would we recognise that we were soul mates?
The words of the Black Pearl track played in my headphones:
I want a love that’s sharp as a diamond
And as warm as a fireside chair,
A love that’s for now and forever.
And when I find it I’m sure you’ll be there.
I felt certain that when I met Mystery Boy we’d understand each other and what each other wanted perfectly. As more trees, a river and open fields flashed by, an upbeat track by a female artist called Lady B began and I began to think about my future. The song was about making your memories and not letting life slip into being ordinary or mundane.
I’d be an artist. I’d dress in the most fabulous clothes. I’d have my own style. I’d have my flat in London with Allegra – original artworks everywhere, Venetian masks on the wall and on the shelves would be my books and a few old favourite CDs. Songs for Sarah would be there in the same way that Mum and Dad keep a box of CDs from when they were younger, tracks that they treasure because they make them feel nostalgic about a past time or place. Songs for Sarah would forever evoke the spring and summer of this year, the time when my life changed and I moved to Bath. There would be more to the memories of this time than just the move. Memories yet to be made. Memories of when I meet the boy behind the CD. The boy in shadow on the back cover. The boy who could talk to my heart through music. All I had to do was find him.
Tasmin nudged my leg. ‘Hey, sleepy head. We’re almost there. You’ve been miles away. What have you been dreaming about?’
‘I was thinking about . . . thinking about my future but also about my past. I was in my future looking at things from the past. Things that are happening now. I was thinking about memories that I’ve yet to make.’
Tasmin looked at me as though I was mad. I’ve noticed that she does that a lot. ‘Right . . . That’s clear then. Not.’
‘Awesome,’ said Clover as the train drew into Frome station and we got up to wait for the doors to open. ‘Memories you’ve yet to make. Love it. It’s romantic.’
‘It’s daft,’ said Tasmin.
Once out of the cool shadows inside the station, it was a bright sunny day and our moods matched the weather as we walked into town. When we got there, I looked around but couldn’t make out what was so special and why we hadn’t spent the day in Bath, which is a shopaholic’s dream. All I could see were a couple of charity shops, a shop selling cheap shoes and a pub.
‘Over here,’ said Clover and she started to lead us up a steep cobbled hill lined with shops. ‘The best vintage shops in the south-west.’ She pulled me into the shop in front of us. Inside, it was full of old clothes jammed onto rails and piled up on shelves. I can see why Tasmin would like this place, I thought, it looks exactly like her bedroom.
For the next hour, we had a brilliant time. We tried on hats from the 1940s, dresses from the 1950s and 60s, big old fur coats, bits of lace, earrings, fans, shoes. Clover made me try on a top hat and a black Victorian jacket with a tiny waist. ‘Very Goth, darling,’ she said when I came out of the changing room. The jacket was a bit small but, I had to admit, it looked cool especially when Clover teamed it with a flared red-and-black flowered skirt from the Fifties. I’d never have thought of putting them together, but they worked and made me look interesting and daring, not safe and sensible. I loved the change.
‘So what’s the difference between vintage and second hand?’ I asked as we sifted through baskets of beautiful silk scarves.
‘Hmm, good question,’ said Clover who was trying on a fabulous velvet cloak. ‘Vintage is older and more expensive. And vintage is way more stylish than the stuff in most charity shops, though you can find bargains in them too, but look at the detail, the sewing skill, in some of these clothes. Fabulous. And don’t forget, some of the Hollywood celebs wear vintage on Oscar night now and they’re often the loveliest dresses.’
I had to admit she was right. Some of the dresses in the shop had trims and finishes that were beautiful.
‘This shop reminds me of those places where you can go to have your photo taken in old clothes,’ I said. ‘There’s one in Eton. Mum and I dressed up as Victorian ladies and Dad dressed up as gentleman complete with top hat and curly moustache when we were there once. It was a great memento of the day.’
‘Yeah, photograph,’ said Tasmin and she whipped out her phone and took a shot of Clover in the cloak. After that, there was no stopping us, and as we went further up the hill, from shop to shop, we took photos of each of us dressed in all sorts of weird and wonderful outfits. As I looked at myself in the various mirrors in different colours and fabrics, I could see the old Paige disappearing and another girl starting to emerge.
After an hour, I spotted a knee-length coral cotton dress with tiny cornflower-blue flowers on it. It looked like a Forties dress and vintage is usually Clover’s thing, but this one had Tasmin’s name on it. ‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘Tasmin, try this on.’
Her expression was priceless. ‘Ew.’
‘Come on, Tas,’ said Clover and she took the dress and held it up against her. ‘Play the game.’
Tasmin disappeared into the changing room and emerged five minutes later with the dress on. It fitted her perfectly and she looked fabulous. She looked in the mirror and did a twirl.
‘Hey, you look like a girl,’ said Clover.
‘Meaning?’ asked Tasmin. ‘What did I look like before? A gorilla?’
‘I mean it suits you,’ said Clover. ‘How much is it?’
Tasmin looked at the label. ‘Fifteen pounds. I don’t have it.’
‘I do,’ said Clover. ‘I’m going to get it for your birthday – early present – and you have to wear it.’
Tasmin was studying herself in the mirror. I could see that she was pleased with what she saw. ‘Well, OK,’ she said. ‘I guess I could wear it around the house when there’s no one to see, or it might look OK with a pair of cowboy boots or red heels and red scarf in my hair, like you wear, Clover.’
‘That would look great,’ I said.
When she went back into the changing room, Clover high-fived me. ‘Good choice. She’d have never picked out anything like that. It’s good to go shopping with someone with a fresh eye. You next,’ she said and started searching the rails.
She picked out two dresses and two tops for me to try. One dress was strong blue, the other fuchsia, and both tops were red. She held them up against me. ‘Jewel colours would look good on you with your dark eyes and hair. You play it far too safe in the colours and styles you pick.’
I took the clothes and went to try them on. None of them fitted properly but Clover was right. The stronger colours did look good on me. Tasmin stuck her head around the changing room curtain then pulled it back. ‘Wow. Much better. Those colours make you look . . . I don’t know . . . Spanish or Italian. Exotic, that’s for sure.’ She got out her make-up and applied a little red gloss to my lips then stood back to look. ‘Fab. Don’t you think, Clover?’
Clover came to join us. ‘Deffo.’ She looked at our reflections in the mirror. ‘It’s like you need a bit of Tas, Paige, and she needs a bit of you.’
Tasmin laughed. ‘You can blunt my pencil a bit and I’ll sharpen yours.’
‘OK, later when we’re back from Frome, I’ll do your make-up. You do mine,’ I said.
‘Deal,’ said Tasmin.
Clover went and paid for the dress for Tasmin, then we headed back outside. ‘I’m dying of thirst after all that trying on,’ said Tasmin.
‘Me too,’ I agreed.
As we headed towards the nearest café, Tasmin spotted a shop selling T-shirts. There were loads of examples in the window showing t
hat the shop could personalise the design to whatever anyone wanted. I stood and stared for a few moments. ‘I’ve just had a brilliant idea,’ I said.
‘Oh dear,’ said Clover. ‘Sometimes it’s best to leave the country when someone has a brilliant idea.’
‘So what’s the idea, clever clogs?’ asked Tasmin.
I pointed at the window. ‘We have T-shirts made. One for each of us, with the front cover of Songs for Sarah on the front and the black-and-white photo on the back.’
‘That is brilliant,’ said Clover. ‘We could wear them around Bath and see if anyone recognises it. Have you got the CD on you?’
I nodded. ‘I’ve still got it in my bag from when I went to see FB. One small problem though. How am I going to pay for them?’
Tasmin looked in the window. ‘They aren’t that expensive. Three for fifteen quid. Bargain.’
We checked out purses. We had exactly nine pounds and forty pence between us. ‘Enough to get a drink and a roll,’ said Clover, ‘and I’m starving. We can save up and come back and get the T-shirts done another day.’
‘Or I could take the dress back,’ said Tasmin but Clover gave her such a look that she quickly added, ‘OK. OK, I’ll keep the dress. It doesn’t make sense to make another journey out here and pay our train fares again.’ She looked around. ‘OK, I’ve had another brilliant idea.’
Clover sighed. ‘Lord help us. OK, let’s hear it.’
‘We busk.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Yeah right.’
‘Come on, killjoys. Both of you have studied drama. I know you can sing, Clover – in fact you’ve got a brilliant voice.’
We did everything we could to dissuade her but she wasn’t having it and, ten minutes later, I found myself at the bottom of the hill, singing Christmas carols to passersby. We couldn’t decide on any contemporary songs that we all knew the lyrics to. Carols were the only ones that we all knew. I decided to go with it and it got to be fun. When we started on ‘Silent Night’, I did a bit of mime too, to make it more of a performance. I’d done a class on it back in school in London and knew how to do the walking into a window mime with palms flat against an imaginary piece of glass. It cracked Tasmin and Clover up and they choked on their words.
Playlist for a Broken Heart Page 10
