The Shoestring Club

by Sarah Webb

  ‘Good. Olaf’s away again in a few weeks, I’ll give you a ring.’ And then she’s gone.

  I don’t blame her for being a bit hesitant about seeing me, I don’t suppose I’d want to spend time with an employee I’d just fired either, even if we were supposed to be friends.

  I stare down at my phone for a second and think. Then I reach over to my bedside drawer, open it and pull out the sticky note Bird had pressed into my hand yesterday. Jamie’s mobile number.

  ‘Here,’ she’d said after dinner. ‘This is for you.’

  I looked down at the yellow square of paper and for a second my heart lifted. ‘JAMIE’ it read. And then his number. I lifted my head and smiled at Bird.

  ‘He dropped it in?’ I asked.

  She smiled back at me, over-brightly.

  ‘No, Daphne did. I was over there yesterday. We both think you should give him a ring. You’re both single and—’

  ‘Bird! If Jamie wants to see me, he knows where I am. And stop with the matchmaking, it’s embarrassing.’

  Bird and Daphne are obviously back to their old tricks. They’ve been trying to push the two of us together for years. They could never get to grips with our platonic relationship. Daphne doesn’t think men and women can be friends, and Bird’s undecided. I know they mean well, but Jamie is clearly not interested in so much as talking to me and there’s nothing they or I can do to change that.

  But right now, even though he still hasn’t called in, I’m so desperate for company I ring him regardless. I feel tingly with nerves as I wait for an answer. But it clicks straight to messages. I say in a garbled rush, ‘Hi, Jamie, it’s me, Jules. If you get this ring me back. If you want to that is. But not tonight – I’ll be out with my friends. Friday night, you know how it is. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely and sitting over there all on your—’ Beep. The time has run out. Damn. I’ve always envied people who can leave short, succinct, normal messages. I screw my eyes closed and then open them again. If Jamie does call around this evening, and I’m sitting in front of the telly, he’s going to think I’m such a loser. Great! I have to go out now.

  And then it comes to me: Clara – Clara Sugars. Clara is one of the researchers on the Danny Delaney team and we’ve always got on really well. We’ve even gone to a couple of fashion shows together when she’s had free tickets. Every Friday night the Danny gang meet in Dicey Reilly’s pub in Ballsbridge to dissect the week, slag off other radio shows and their pathetic ratings, and to get mouldy drunk of course. And as Karen said, Lainey and Ed are away in Paris this weekend so he won’t be there. Perfect.

  As soon as Clara’s voice wings down the line I start to feel a whole lot better. For a start she sounds genuinely delighted to hear from me.

  ‘Jules!’ she says, in her sing-song Cork accent. ‘It’s been an age, girl. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Job hunting mainly. Thrilling stuff – not.’

  ‘What happened? I thought you liked Baroque.’

  Self-preservation kicks in. I don’t want Lainey to find out via Ed that I’ve been fired. ‘Didn’t work out. I’d like to try something that stretches me a bit, something more creative.’

  ‘I understand. Look, I’m just finishing up here and then we’re all heading over to Dicey’s. Why don’t you join us? It would be great to catch up, yeah, and I always hate being the only female.’ She pauses for a second. ‘And I’m sorry about Ed and everything. He’s away at the moment so you’re safe there. How’s the head by the way? I heard you had to get stitches, you poor creature.’ Clara was at the birthday party, along with the rest of the team.

  ‘Three stitches, and mild concussion. It was just the shock, you know. I’ve known Ed and Lainey a long time and—’

  She cuts me off. ‘I’m dying to hear all the details, Jules, but right now I’d better get motoring or I’ll never make the pub. See you at seven, yeah?’

  At ten past seven I walk into the snug at Dicey Reilly’s and feel a wave of nostalgia. For years this used to be my weekly Friday-night haunt. When Ed and I were together I was an honorary member of the Danny Delaney Crew. At first I thought it was weird that they all wanted to spend even more time together – they’re practically joined at the hip from seven in the morning until six in the evening Monday to Friday as it is. But they seem to genuinely enjoy each other’s company, plus they’re all completely paranoid. If you aren’t there, you might get talked about, and Noel Hegarty, the producer, has a barbed tongue. You can never tell when he’s going to give someone’s reputation a lashing.

  Tonight, most of Danny’s team are already sitting on the curved, green leather seat in the snug, listening as Danny holds court: Noel, Clara, Mickey Darton, who’s another researcher like Ed, and a couple of other familiar faces. Plus the ghost of Ed himself, ever the clown, eyes closed, hands out in front of him singing ,‘Hello, is it me you’re looking for?’, making the whole team laugh. I shake myself out of it and try to remember what I’d decided to say.

  I wave at everyone and give them all a big, friendly, I’ve-got-no-issues-whatsoever-and-I’m-totally-over-the-whole-Ed-and-Lainey-thing smile. ‘Hey, gang. Great to see you. Clara invited me, hope you don’t mind. I’m over my concussion, young, free and single and ready to party.’

  ‘Hey, girl,’ Clara says. ‘Glad you could make it. Squeeze in beside me.’

  Danny grins. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. We’ve missed you, babes. Thought you’d become a recluse after all that Ed and Lainey business.’ He gives a dramatic wince, complete with hissing sound effect. ‘Gotta hurt, your best mate shacking up with your man like that.’

  ‘It was a bit of a kick in the teeth all right,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light. I’d expected this. ‘But hey, life goes on, doesn’t it?’

  Danny nods. ‘Good attitude, babes. Guess you’ll be giving the wedding a wide berth?’

  ‘And miss out on all that free booze?’ I say, again carefully rehearsed. ’Course I’ll be there. Despite everything, they’re both old friends.’

  ‘Excellent, we’re all invited too. It’ll be a blast.’ Danny pats the seat beside him. ‘Sit right here beside Daddy.’

  I sigh inwardly with relief. I’ve obviously passed the so-over-Ed-it’s-unreal test. I wiggle past Noel and squeeze in between Danny and Clara, smiling at her apologetically. I know she likes him but he seems utterly oblivious to the fact.

  ‘You look great,’ I tell her, gently bumping her shoulder with mine. The Danny crew make a point of slagging cheek kissers, so I wouldn’t dare. And I mean it, she looks stunning – dramatic marine-blue eyeshadow making her hazel eyes pop, black skinny jeans, sparkly midnight-blue top – she’s made a real effort and I’m glad I’ve borrowed one of Pandora’s silk skirts.

  ‘Thanks.’ Clara smiles. ‘Now tell me all the goss. How’s Pandora? And little Iris?’ I turn my body towards Clara, ready to get stuck into a proper catch-up conversation, when Danny slaps my thigh. He’s pretty much just a toddler in a rock god’s body – he has to be the centre of attention at all times otherwise he sulks.

  ‘Drink, Jules?’ he asks.

  ‘Jager bomb, please.’

  ‘Good woman yerself.’

  Danny knocks on the wooden wall of the snug and after a few seconds a young lounge boy walks in and blushes deeply when he recognises Danny. Sunglasses propped on his head, black leather jacket over black jeans and band T-shirt, he’s hardly inconspicuous. Danny’s show is currently number one in the radio ratings, and he’s a regular face in the Irish papers and magazines. At the moment, Mr Delaney can do no wrong.

  ‘Jager bomb,’ he tells the lounge boy, ‘and another round of the same for the rest of us. Ask Paddy, he’ll tell you what we’re drinking.’ Paddy’s the head barman and a bit of an institution in Dicey’s.

  The boy nods, backs out of the snug, reappears a few minutes later and unloads his groaning tray.

  I pick up my drink, knock it back in one and slam the glass down on the
table. Danny’s wide mouth slits into a grin. ‘And we’re off,’ he says, gabbling like a horse-racing commentator. ‘And in the inside lane is Jules and her rocket fuel, middle lane we have Grumpy Noel and his pints, not one mind, two. Tricky Mickey’s on a pint and a JD chaser, rare man, Mickey! And on the outside lane, we have Boring Clara. And what’s that? A Coke? Surely not. You’ll never win the Grand National on a Coke, missy.’

  Clara blushes and plays with her glass. ‘Sorry, Danny. Driving tonight. Have to drop the babysitter home later.’ Clara’s a single mum but she always tries to make it out on a Friday, says it’s good for team morale, but I think it has more to do with spending time with Danny.

  Danny shakes his head. ‘Clara, Clara, Clara. What will I do with you? I’ll let you off just this once, ’cause you’re so easy on the eye.’

  She blushes again. Ed thinks Clara’s a bit boring, but in fact she’s far from it, she’s just quiet and a little shy. But once you get talking to her, one on one, she’s fascinating – incredibly well read, with her finger on the pulse of every cutting-edge news blog or website out there. She’s also one of those rare people who actually listens to what you have to say, and seems genuinely interested in learning how you see the world, which is pretty rare.

  Clara’s also the brains behind the show. She books the ‘talent’, researches most of the items and types up all Danny’s notes, plus she generates most of the weekly slots: Danny’s Dish of the Day (celebrity gossip), Danny’s Dodos – stupid things celebrities or politicians say. Even the Danny Delaney house band – House – was her idea. Noel always takes credit for the band, but she came up with the concept first. I know ’cause I was right here in Dicey’s snug when she suggested it. They’re very lucky to have her.

  She’s pretty too, petite with cropped dark hair, like a little pixie, which is why they call her Tink, short for Tinkerbell, but she hates it, so they don’t use it to her face. Everyone on the team has a nickname, even Ed the Head. All a bit childish and prep school, if you ask me.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jules will make up for your intoxication inadequacies, won’t you, babes?’ Danny grins at me.

  ‘Absolutely.’ I beam, wondering when my next drink’s going to arrive. You need to be a few drinks down to cope in Danny’s company – you have to be ‘on’ all the time, totally engaged in the conversation and in what Danny in particular is saying.

  Ed explained it all carefully after my inaugural night in Dicey’s. ‘Working for Danny is like selling your soul to the devil, Jules,’ he’d said. ‘He’s the driving force behind the whole bloody radio station, and he knows it. And once you accept that and roll with it, life becomes a hell of a lot easier.’

  ‘So pandering to Danny’s ego is part of the job?’ I’d asked.

  He laughed. ‘Exactly! Along with keeping Grumpy Noel fully caffeinated up, and holding Clara’s hand when she’s having one of her “Noel’s picking on me” wobbles. All part of the game.’

  Another drink arrives and I down it in one, to the team’s cheers. Seconds later the familiar alcohol tingle hits my system and the week’s frustrations begin to melt away.

  Later that night, I hear voices floating above me.

  ‘I don’t know if we can bring her. She’s pretty out if it and the bouncers at Champers hate drunks.’ Noel.

  ‘We should make sure she gets home OK. Feck, where’s Tink when you need her?’ Mickey.

  I open my eyes. Noel and Mickey are staring down at me. I smile and wave up at them.

  ‘Hi, boys. Where am I?’ My head’s spinning and my body feels heavy.

  ‘In the beer garden at Dicey’s,’ Noel says. ‘You fell asleep, so we carried you out to get some fresh air. Listen, we’re off to Champers but Tink’s gone home and it’s a boys-only thing, you know how it is.’

  ‘’s OK,’ I reply. I want to say more but I can’t find the words. I push myself up a little but for some reason my legs don’t seem to work.

  Noel grabs me rather roughly by the arm and pulls me to my feet. ‘You go inside, Mickey, order a taxi. I’ll look after Jules for a second.’

  Mickey walks off and Noel props me up against the wall.

  ‘’s very quiet out here,’ I say, then hiccup. ‘Oops, sorry.’ I put my hand over my mouth and giggle.

  Noel strokes the side of my face. ‘It’s after one, Jules. We’re the only soldiers left standing.’ His hand moves down, onto my shoulder and brushes my breast. ‘You look hot tonight. Look what you’re doing to me.’ He presses his body against mine, rubs his crotch against the top of my leg.

  Is he out of his mind? I think groggily: he’s married for Christ’s sake. And where did all this come from? He’s never shown any interest in me before.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t get out of it that easily. Giving me those fuck me looks all night. Skirt riding up your bare legs.’ He moves his hand down and starts dragging up my skirt.

  ‘Noel, stop!’ I try to push him away but he’s too strong. He puts an arm across my throat.

  ‘Shut up, you little slut,’ he hisses, a fleck of spit hitting my cheek. His breath smells of stale beer and cigarettes. ‘You know you want it.’

  His hand paws at my knickers and I’m terrified, my heart pounding in my chest. He presses his arm against my neck again, harder, almost choking me, and I manage a strangled scream.

  ‘I said shut up,’ he snaps. His eyes are stony, dead.

  ‘Taxi’s here.’ It’s Mickey.

  I look over and Mickey’s just standing there, staring at us.

  ‘Ah, right, sorry,’ he says, looking awkward. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.’

  Noel backs away a little and drops his arm. ‘No problem, man. We’re nearly done here. See you outside in a minute.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ And then Noel watches as Mickey turns to leave, and while he’s distracted I draw up my leg and knee him in the groin, with as much force as I can. He jumps away and presses his hands against his balls.

  ‘Jesus! You little bitch. Come here.’ He throws his other hand out to catch me but I’m too fast for him. I run across the patio, fling open the door and stagger inside. It’s completely empty, apart from Paddy, who’s putting away glasses behind the bar, his shirt as crumpled as his tired face.

  ‘You OK, Jules?’ he calls over.

  ‘Not really,’ I say, straightening down my skirt, feeling sick to the stomach and suddenly a lot more sober. I must look a state. I’m about to tell him what happened when Noel comes crashing through the door. His face is an angry red, his flabby jaw set rigid.

  Paddy looks from Noel to me, and then back at Noel.

  Noel strides towards the bar and slaps his hands down on the wood.

  ‘What did she tell you?’ he demands.

  Paddy looks confused.

  ‘Nothing. But she doesn’t look the best. Mickey’s holding a taxi for you outside. Are you taking her with you?’

  I manage to force out a ‘No!’ which sounds more like a wail than anything else.

  ‘You heard the lady,’ Noel says. ‘She can make her own way home.’

  He gives me an icy look, and I want to scream at him, tell him to get the hell away from me, but my throat is constricted and I can’t seem to get the words out. I’m stuck to the spot, terrified he’ll drag me out with him, insisting to Paddy that I’m drunk and he has to take me home in person.

  But instead he says, ‘See ya, Paddy. Make sure she gets a cab soon. She’s completely wasted,’ before walking out, making sure to keep his distance from me. And as soon as the door shuts behind him, I’m so relieved I burst into tears and collapse against a table.

  Paddy comes out from behind the bar and steadies me with his arm. ‘Ah, here, love, it’s all right. Told you he was married, did he? I’ve seen it all before, believe me. You’ll be grand. You’ll get over him.’

  This makes me sob even louder.

  ‘Here, you’re not going to puke, are you?’ The taxi
driver eyes me suspiciously in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re looking that way.’

  I press my lips together and shake my head. Unfortunately he doesn’t believe me. The car screeches to a halt.

  ‘Out!’ he says. ‘I’m not cleaning this damn car for the second time tonight.’

  ‘No, please, I won’t puke, I’m OK.’ But even to my own ears the words sound a little slurred.

  ‘I said out.’ He jumps out, opens the passenger door, grabs my arm and pulls me out, his rough fingers digging into the bare flesh of my upper arm. I stagger towards the footpath.

  As he accelerates away and the cold air hits my skin, I realize I’ve left my jacket on the back seat. At least I’m still clutching my bag. I look around. And where the hell am I anyway? The run from Ballsbridge to Dalkey is pretty straightforward, but I seem to be in the middle of an industrial estate. I sit down on the edge of the pavement and start to cry. And then my stomach lurches and I vomit its contents onto the road, managing to splatter both my shoes and the bottom of Pandora’s skirt. I wipe my mouth with my hand and then look up and down the street for a taxi, but it’s deathly quiet.

  I peer in my bag for my mobile, half expecting to have lost it again. But no, it’s there. I hold it in my hand and think for a second, staggering a little, my head still fuzzy. I right myself and I consider ringing Jamie, before remembering he hasn’t replied to my message. Then I get the overwhelming urge to ring Ed. I must talk to Ed – right now. Everything that has happened between us melts away. Ed will know what to do; he’ll make me feel safe.

  The rings sound funny but eventually he answers.

  ‘Hello?’ he says, his voice groggy with sleep. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Ed!’ I wail. I’m so overwhelmed to hear his voice I start to cry again. ‘I just had the most horrible night. And I’m lost. Can you come and get me?’

  ‘Jules, it’s the middle of the night. I thought someone had died. Where are you?’

  ‘I don’t know! I told you, I’m lost.’

  ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘’Course I’m drunk, ’s Friday. I was in Dicey’s.’ I stop. Shit, Noel. What do I tell Ed? Noel’s pretty much his boss. But Ed’s my friend. He’ll understand.