The Shoestring Club

by Sarah Webb

  ‘So tell me about your week, Pandora,’ Dad says from his seat at the head of the table while Bird and Iris dish up – Iris carefully spooning rice onto each plate, Bird sloshing Thai Green Curry across them haphazardly.

  ‘Not much to say really.’ Pandora reaches across me for the water jug.

  ‘Water anyone?’ she says, looking at me pointedly.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘You poured yourself a glass and then ignored the rest of us, Jules.’

  ‘Sorry, I have things on my mind.’

  ‘Like Baroque you mean? Have you told Dad yet?’

  I stare at her. She’s such a busybody sometimes. Luckily, yes, I have told him. But she wasn’t to know that.

  There’s a long silence while Bird plonks a plate in front of me, and then Pandora. Iris carries Dad’s over with two hands and places it squarely on his table mat.

  Bird puts a plate out for herself and Iris, smoothes down her skirt and takes her seat. Then she says, ‘Pandora’s right, Boolie, he does need to know.’

  ‘I’ve just told him.’ I raise my eyebrows at Pandora. ‘Satisfied?’

  Dad looks at Pandora. ‘And I’m sure Rowie will reconsider if you ring her and explain that Julia would be happy to work part-time. Or even take a slight pay cut if that helps. She just wants to keep her job; isn’t that right, pet?’

  He turns and pats my hand and I nod.

  Pandora sits back in her seat and folds her arms across her chest. ‘No way, Dad. I’m not ringing Rowie. She must have had her reasons for firing Jules and I’m not getting involved.’

  He frowns at her. ‘But she’s your sister, Pandora. And she needs your help.’

  ‘Can we talk about this after dinner, please? I missed lunch and I’m starving.’ She picks up her fork and starts shovelling rice into her mouth.

  ‘Pandora,’ Bird says, a warning tone in her voice.

  Pandora doesn’t look up. ‘I’m tired, Bird. And I need to eat.’ Pandora gets even rattier if she hasn’t eaten. It’s something to do with her blood-sugar levels apparently.

  ‘Let’s all eat,’ Dad says quickly. ‘Pandora’s right, we can talk about it later. So Iris, what did you get up to this week?’

  Iris pushes back her dark-brown fringe with her hand. It’s a little long and is falling over her eyes.

  ‘Science camp,’ she says. ‘We made crystals and bath bombs and stuff. It was cool.’ Her face drops a little. ‘But a bit messy. I got blue food colouring down my white dress yesterday.’

  ‘It did say to wear old clothes, Iris,’ Pandora says. ‘And I gave you that old shirt of Grandpa’s to put over your dress.’

  ‘But I wanted to look nice.’ Iris’s cheeks go a little pink.

  ‘To impress the cute science nerd,’ I say, wiggling my eyebrows. ‘What’s his name again?’

  She kicks me under the table. ‘Shut up.’

  Bird hits her glass with her fork. ‘Language, Iris, please.’

  ‘Sorry, Bird. But Auntie Jules was teasing me.’

  Bird frowns at me. ‘Julia.’

  I try not to laugh. ‘Only because I love you, Iris, honest. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Any boy would be lucky to have you as his friend.’

  ‘Thanks, Auntie Jules.’ Iris smiles brightly at me.

  ‘And there’s this cool exploding bread soda and vinegar trick I could show you later if you like,’ I add.

  ‘Cool!’

  Pandora looks less impressed. ‘Don’t expect me to clear up after you both,’ she grumbles.

  ‘We’d never do anything like that,’ I say, throwing Iris a wink. ‘Would we, Iris?’

  Iris just giggles.

  After apple pie and ice cream (the pie a little cold in the middle but I’m not complaining), Dad bravely opens the Rowie subject again over coffee. ‘Pandora,’ he says. ‘I want you to consider, just consider, ringing Rowie.’

  ‘Dad!’

  He puts his hands up. ‘Let me finish. I think Boolie has learnt her lesson, haven’t you, pet?’

  I nod enthusiastically. ‘Yes, absolutely. Tell Rowie I’ll never come in late again.’

  ‘I’m just asking you to think about it, Pandora, that’s all,’ he adds finally. ‘Subject closed.’

  Pandora’s jaw is stiff. ‘I know you, Dad. You’ll go on and on at me every day, making me feel bad until I do it. Why can’t Jules ring Rowie herself?’

  Dad sighs. ‘Because Rowie is your friend. And Jules is your sister. I’m asking you to do this for me.’

  ‘OK, fine, I’ll do it right now if it makes you happy. But for the record I don’t think it will do any good.’

  Pandora pushes her chair back, the legs screeching against the tiles, and stands up.

  ‘Thank you, Pandora,’ Bird says. ‘I know Jules really appreciates it, don’t you darling?’

  I nod again, keeping quiet. Pandora’s giving me an I’m-going-to-kill-someone-and-it-might-just-be-you look.

  While she’s out of the room, Iris pipes up, ‘Do you have any old perfume bottles, Bird? We’re making rose petal perfume in camp tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you dear, how lovely. I’ll certainly have a look.’

  ‘I used to do that,’ I say. ‘With Mum, remember, Dad? We used to collect all the flowers and steep them in this special glycerine stuff she bought from the chemist, and then strain the petals away. It actually smelt pretty good.’

  Dad stands up and starts collecting the dessert bowls, clattering them into each other loudly.

  ‘Greg, darling, sit down, I’ll do that,’ Bird smiles gently at him.

  He’s still ignoring me. There’s an awkward atmosphere in the room.

  ‘Dad?’ I say again softly.

  Bird looks at him. ‘I’m sure you do remember, don’t you, Greg? Kirsten and Boolie making perfume?’

  Dad just mumbles, ‘Yeah,’ under his breath. But he still won’t meet my eyes.

  Bird’s about to say something else when Pandora storms back into the room, all guns blazing.

  ‘I can’t believe you held a rave in Baroque, Julia. Are you deranged?’

  Yikes. I shift in my seat. ‘It wasn’t a rave. It was just a small get-together thing. To celebrate The Leaf Doctor’s debut album. And I cleaned up afterwards. We only lost one T-shirt and I paid for it out of my wages.’

  It was Ed’s idea. He’s a researcher on the Danny Delaney Morning Show on 2FM and knows all the up-and-coming Dublin bands. I think they befriend him in the hope that their music will get a spin on the radio. But I keep Ed’s involvement to myself; Bird has a limbo low opinion of him as it is.

  Pandora shakes her head. ‘You’re such an idiot. Rowie says there’s no way she’s taking you back, ever. She loves you as a friend but she says it’s too stressful being your boss.’ Pandora turns to Dad. ‘I told you it was a bad idea. Rowie was very nice about it, but she’s not going to change her mind. In fact she’s already replaced Jules.’

  I feel a tiny stab to the heart. Replaced me? Rowie said she couldn’t afford to employ anyone else; I guess she was just trying to spare my feelings. My spirits sink even lower.

  ‘Thanks for trying, love,’ Dad says.

  Pandora stares at him. ‘What about the rave? If I did something like that, you’d murder me.’

  Dad smiles gently. ‘I’m sure Boolie has learnt her lesson, haven’t you, chicken?’

  I nod, keeping my mouth shut. I know what’s coming next.

  Pandora’s eyes are flashing. ‘This is exactly why she can’t hold down a job, Dad. You have to stop treating her like a child. She keeps taking advantage of everyone, doing stupid things and getting away with it. She’s twenty-four and she’s living at home, scrounging off you. I’m sorry, Jules, but it’s the truth.’

  Bird slaps her palms down onto the table, making us all jump. ‘Pandora, your father is only doing his best. We all need to support Julia in her job hunt, build up her confidence.’ She gives Pandora a loaded look.

  ‘Bird’s right,�
� Dad says. ‘There’s no point worrying about things that happened in the past, we all need to look forwards, not backwards. I’m sure Boolie will be snapped up in no time.’ He smiles at me. ‘Employers will be dying to hire a beautiful, smart girl like you. And if the worst comes to the worst, you can always go full-time at Shoestring.’

  Pandora snorts loudly. ‘Hello? Whose shop is it exactly?’

  ‘Mine,’ Bird says firmly. ‘But I don’t think it’s come to that yet.’ She pats Dad’s hand. ‘Let’s wait and see what happens. Boolie may surprise us all yet.’

  But no one around the table looks very convinced. I feel about an inch tall. ‘Can I be excused, Bird?’ I say. ‘I have something to do upstairs. Job hunting stuff.’

  She nods. ‘Of course, darling.’

  I walk quickly out the door, run upstairs to my room, and flop down on my duvet, completely fed up.

  A little later, Bird walks in the door and sits down on the side of my bed. ‘Is anything wrong, Boolie? You seemed a little upset after dinner.’

  I sit up and shuffle down the bed, away from her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, willing her to leave me alone.

  ‘You’re clearly not. What’s bothering you? Is it your sister? I know she can be a little sharp sometimes, but she only has your best interests at heart. She’s devoted to you, darling, you know that.’

  I snort. ‘Really? Because she sure as hell doesn’t show it. Blabbing to Dad about Baroque like that. Calling me a scrounger.’

  Bird sighs. ‘Yes, I agree, sometimes her timing’s a little off. But she’s tired, she has a lot on her shoulders.’

  She pauses, as if considering her words.

  ‘Your sister doesn’t find life easy,’ she adds. ‘She wasn’t blessed with your dogged self-confidence.’

  I give a laugh. ‘Self-confidence? You’re joking, right?’

  Bird looks surprised. ‘You have oodles of it, darling, too much sometimes. And you can be remarkably charming and sweet when you want to be. Your sister on the other hand obsesses far too much about the shop. At the moment it’s her whole life, along with Iris of course, but I do worry about her. And I do wish the two of you were closer. You were like peas in a pod for years. I really don’t know what happened.’

  She looks at me. ‘You used to follow her around like a stray dog, remember? Pandora’s little shadow we called you. And then you started pushing her away, just after you turned twelve. I remember it vividly. What happened, darling? Can you recall?’

  I blow out my breath. ‘Not really.’ Which is a total lie. ‘I guess we just overdosed on each other. After Mum, well, you know, Pandora was amazing. Did everything for me. Tidied my room, put out my clothes for me, helped me with my homework, plaited my hair . . .’

  Bird sighed. ‘Too much for a young teenager to take on, looking back. But she insisted.’

  I shrug. ‘I guess after a while it started to get annoying; she was making me feel like a child.’

  Bird gives me a reassuring smile. ‘You were a child, darling.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t! I was perfectly able to look after myself.’

  Suddenly it all comes flooding back to me: the anger and frustration I felt at being treated like a baby, the need to show them all that I didn’t need help, that I could happily stand on my own two feet. Three days after I turned twelve I woke up and my pyjamas felt a little damp. I looked down and found spots of fresh blood. I knew what it was, Mum had given me ‘the talk’ a few years ago when Pandora got her period, but it still came as a shock. I sat on my bed and cried my heart out, desperate for Mum. I couldn’t face telling Bird or Pandora, so I hid the pyjamas at the back of my wardrobe and used rolled up loo paper in my knickers instead of a sanitary pad. For two days I hid what had happened, until Bird changed the bed linen and saw faint red stains. I’d tried to rub the evidence away with a wash cloth, but there were still traces left.

  During those two days of my very first period, something changed inside me; it was like a switch flicked from off to on. I knew everything was going to be different. I was grown up now. I had to stop relying on Bird and Pandora so much, I had to take charge of my life.

  From that point on, I started to do everything myself. I started choosing what I wanted to wear every morning, pushing aside what Pandora had put out. I refused to let her help with my homework, struggled though it all by myself (unlike Pandora, I found school work difficult), and I fixed my own hair.

  Then one day I got it into my head to travel home from school alone. I didn’t wait for Pandora like I was supposed to; I got the train back to Dalkey all by myself, arriving home an hour earlier than usual.

  By the time I got there and Bird realized what had happened, Pandora was already racing around the school in a state, convinced something terrible had happened to me. She was so upset, Bird had to go and collect her. Bird brought me with her in the car, and as soon as Pandora climbed in, she slapped me across the face, hard, shocking both me and Bird. Boy did it sting.

  ‘Pandora!’ Bird cried.

  ‘I hate her,’ Pandora said. ‘I thought she’d been abducted or something.’ And then she burst into tears.

  She cried the whole way home. I just stared out the window, ignoring her.

  Bird sighs now. She’s clearly on my wavelength. ‘After all that train business, you started locking her out of your bedroom, didn’t you, darling?’ she says gently.

  I nod, feeling ashamed. Not only did I lock Pandora out of my room, I also refused to speak to her for several weeks.

  ‘Can we not talk about this any more? I really do have to write some job application letters.’

  She strokes the side of my cheek. ‘I understand. But give your sister a chance, Boolie. You two need each other.’

  I watch Bird walk out and close the door behind her, then flop down again. As I lie there, staring at the ceiling, I can almost feel Pandora brushing my thick hair, trying to gently tease the knots out of it, one hand on my crown. I used to press my head into the cup of her palm, liking the firm, warm pressure against my scalp. It made me feel safe.

  Chapter 6

  By the following Friday, I’m seriously depressed. Job hunting is such hard work and so demoralizing. All my previous jobs have been set up by Dad, Pandora or Bird, pulling in favours with friends. But this time Dad’s run out of people to try, most of Bird’s friends in the drapery business are sadly dead, and Pandora says there’s no way she’s contacting any of her mates in retail, not after the Baroque debacle. And then she had the cheek to ask me to mind Iris twice this week: on Wednesday night (choir practice) and Thursday night while she visited the local karaoke bar with Rowie. And no, I wasn’t invited. I did ask Pandora if I could tag along but she said absolutely not, she desperately needed a night out and she didn’t want Rowie to feel awkward.

  I’ve spent every morning this week crawling out of bed and into one of Pandora’s boring black suits – the skirt is far too long and makes me look like a civil servant. I’ve tried rolling the top of it, like I used to do with my school skirt, but then I can’t tuck my shirt in, and as my boobs are much bigger than Pandora’s, the jacket won’t close to hide the shirt flaps. So midi-skirt it is.

  Once suited and booted (well ballet-pumped to be strictly accurate), I’ve walked into each carefully chosen shop with a friendly look on my face and asked to speak to the manager, only to be practically sniffed at when I enquire if there are any openings in their poxy store that I don’t really want to work in anyway. Of course I don’t actually use the word ‘poxy’, I’m ultra polite. Bird would be proud of me. But I can’t take much more of it. Surely someone, somewhere, will give me a break.

  At lunchtime, after dozens of shop managers looking down their noses at me in Dundrum Shopping Centre, I’ve had enough so I call it a day. Whatever happens I’m going out tonight and I’m going to forget all about my pathetic out-of-work status. I’m gagging for a drink, actually a whole wine lake of it. I’ve been looking forward to it all week,
in fact the only thing that’s kept me going is the thought of getting pleasantly hammered tonight. I managed to wangle some cash out of Dad yesterday – told him I needed it for smart job-hunting shoes – and I’m raring to go. I just need someone to join me now.

  It takes me hours to get home. I can’t cycle in my suit – well technically I could but the skirt would rip and Pandora would not be happy – and the buses to Dun Laoghaire only run about once every hour, and then I have to catch a train to Dalkey.

  Once in the door, I climb up the stairs, kick off my ballet flats (freshly polished so they look vaguely new in case Dad asks) and flop down on my bed. I lie there, feeling utterly deflated. Right, I’m going out before I’m too depressed to even walk, I tell myself. I roll over, pull my mobile out of my bag and key in Rowie’s number. Two rings and Rowie answers.

  ‘Hi, Jules, everything OK?’ She sounds a little nervous.

  ‘Great. But I’ve been out job hunting all week and I’m pretty wrecked. What are you up to tonight? Fancy going out?’

  ‘Sorry, Olaf’s booked theatre tickets. Something about a doll’s house, by a Nordic guy, sounds very dark. Not really my bag but he’s pathetically keen to share a bit of his culture with me, so I’d better show willing.’

  ‘What about tomorrow night?’

  There’s a long pause. ‘I’d better not, Jules. You know what he’s like about me rolling in drunk.’

  ‘We don’t have to drink. We could go to the cinema or something.’

  Rowie laughs loudly. ‘Yeah, right. The last time we went to the cinema we ended up at the dodgy nightclub on Leeson Street afterwards, remember? Fingertons. With those Nokia guys. Look, I’d better go, there are customers in. Are you sure you’re OK, Jules? You sound a bit funny.’

  I gulp back what I really want to say: ‘You fired me, remember, Rowie? It’s a job wasteland out there. Please, please, please take me back. And I’m begging you, come out tonight, I really need to talk to someone who isn’t eight,’ but I bite my lip and say, ‘I’m fine, honestly, just tired,’ instead.