The Shoestring Club

by Sarah Webb

  Chapter 10

  ‘Thanks, Dad, I owe you one.’ Pandora pats Dad’s shoulder just before ten on Monday morning.

  Dad looks decidedly uncomfortable. ‘I understand how to work the till, but what if someone wants fashion tips or something. What will I tell them?’

  ‘You’ll be fine. Just tell them they look great in anything they try on.’

  ‘Pandora!’ I stare at her. We’re all sitting at the table in the staffroom at Shoestring. Dad has been pulled in to hold the fort while Pandora, Bird and I have what Bird described as ‘a little talk’. They only sprung it on me a few minutes ago – very sneaky.

  ‘What?’ my sister demands.

  ‘Our customers trust us,’ I say. ‘You always say we should tell them the truth – if something doesn’t look great, bring them a similar outfit that will suit them better.’

  ‘But Dad can’t do that,’ Pandora says. ‘He’s a man for goodness’ sake. And he’s colour-blind.’

  ‘Only red and green,’ Dad points out mildly. It never bothers him, unless his clients want their wooden play sets painted, and then he just gets Bird or Pandora to help him pick the right shade. ‘Girls, get on with your meeting, I’m sure I’ll be fine. If I have any problems, I’ll holler. And I promise not to lie to the customers, OK, Jules?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  Pandora is staring at me.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ I ask.

  ‘Who runs this shop exactly?’

  ‘Bird.’

  ‘Don’t be smart, Julia. You know what I mean. Yes, Bird’s the owner, but I run this shop, not you.’ She turns to Bird. ‘See, she’s taking over already. I knew this was a bad idea.’

  ‘I know it’s Monday morning, but do stop squabbling, girls,’ Bird says. ‘Greg, open up, there’s a good chap, it’s almost ten. Chop, chop.’

  ‘Try not to kill each other at your pow-wow, girls,’ Dad says as he gets up and walks out of the staffroom.

  As soon as he’s gone, Bird knocks on the tabletop with her knuckles.

  ‘Settle down,’ she says. ‘I’d like to call this meeting to order.’

  I chuckle but Bird darts me a look and I stop.

  ‘Now, Pandora,’ Bird continues, ‘do you have a copy of Julia’s contract?’

  ‘Contract?’ I say, sitting up.

  ‘Yes, darling. We’re going to have a little chat about the terms and conditions of your employment and then you’re going to sign it.’

  Pandora takes a sheet of paper out of the plastic folder in her handbag, and slides it across the table towards me. Then she hands me a pen, sits back in her chair and crosses her arms.

  ‘Just sign it, Julia. It’s all very straightforward and I have work to do.’ Pandora’s in a right mood this morning.

  ‘Best to read it first, darling,’ Bird says, ignoring Pandora. ‘And if you have any questions, ask away.’ She gets up, flicks on the kettle and prepares the cafetière.

  I start reading.

  Contract of employment between Julia Schuster and Shoestring Trading Company, under the management of Pandora Schuster. Owner Bird Schuster.

  Julia Schuster will work 40 hours a week for the total sum of €400.

  I lift my head.

  ‘Ten euro an hour? That’s very low. I was on fourteen at Baroque.’

  ‘It’s all we can afford, darling,’ Bird says.

  ‘You’d better read on,’ Pandora says.

  As Julia Schuster owes €1,470 to Greg Schuster, €700 to Bird Schuster and €140 to Pandora Schuster . . .

  I stare at Pandora.

  ‘I don’t owe you a penny.’

  ‘You destroyed my silk skirt. Have you any idea how much Erdem costs?’

  ‘But you bought it here, secondhand.’

  ‘Which is why I’m only charging you what I paid for it. Count yourself lucky I’m not charging you full retail price. Would you like to discuss how it got so stained? The watery pink streaks that the dry cleaner can’t shift, Jules, are they red wine or Red Bull? Do share.’

  I wince. ‘It’s fine, I’ll pay for it,’ I say quickly, feeling Bird’s eyes on me. Then I continue reading.

  . . . €300 of her wages will be distributed to her debtors every week until the money is paid back in full.

  ‘Three hundred?’ I say. ‘That’s outrageous. How can I live on a hundred euro a week? That was your idea, wasn’t it, Pandora?’

  Bird gives me a tight-lipped smile. ‘Mine actually. Coffee, darling?’ she asks me.

  ‘No!’ I snap.

  She looks at me sharply.

  ‘Thank you,’ I add.

  She pours herself another mug, a strong one from the smell wafting around the room.

  ‘But Bird,’ I protest, ‘that means after tax and stuff I’ll have no money to—’

  ‘Spend on drink,’ Pandora cuts in.

  I scowl at her. What is her problem? Is this pick on Jules day or something?

  ‘Pandora, please.’ Bird puts her mug down on the table and slips into a chair beside me. ‘Julia, we are a little concerned about your lifestyle at the moment. Which is why we’ve added certain additional conditions.’ She picks up the paper, and pops on her reading glasses which are on a chain around her neck.

  ‘Where had you got to? Ah yes.’ She starts reading aloud. ‘Julia’s duties will include changing the window display weekly and dressing the shop mannequins daily.’

  ‘Daily?’

  ‘Yes, my dear. Always best to keep busy, don’t you think? And you are rather good at styling them.’ She reads more. ‘She will also take charge of all the interior displays and the redesign of the shop’s interior.’

  I glance at Pandora. She’s chewing her lip. She doesn’t look happy.

  ‘Redesign?’ I ask. ‘Why? What’s wrong with the interior?’

  Pandora sighs deeply. ‘Jules,’ she says, ‘have you any idea how close we are to going under right now?’

  I shake my head. ‘I knew things weren’t great but no, I guess not.’

  ‘Clearly,’ she says, then adds, ‘I had a meeting with the bank on Friday and unless we do something drastic, Shoestring won’t be here this time next month. They’re breathing down my neck and to be honest, I’m pretty desperate. We need to attract new customers in, and fast. Dad’s offered to help, build new shelving, whatever we ask him to do, but clothes are my thing, not interiors. We want you to come up with something eye-catching, something to bring people in. What exactly, is up to you.

  ‘The Monkstown Book Festival is the weekend after next which will bring some new footfall to the street I hope. But we need to attract their attention. So next Sunday I’m going to close the shop – it’s all yours for the day, so you can do your worst.’

  I stare at her, the edges of my lips twitching into a shocked smile.

  ‘Are you serious, Pandora? I can redesign the shop? Any way I like? You trust me to do that? What if I wreck the place or get paint on some of the clothes or something?’

  Pandora’s back stiffens. ‘You listen to me, Julia,’ she says in a serious tone, ‘and you listen good. If Shoestring goes down, this family is in trouble. Not just me, but Bird, and Dad and even Iris. We’re behind on the mortgage and the bank is looking to claw their investment back. Shoestring was bought on the back of Sorrento House, if the shop fails we’re all homeless, understand? This is your one chance to redeem yourself; don’t fuck with Sorrento House, we need that house, got it?’

  Bird gulps loudly and I don’t think it’s Pandora’s language that’s bothering her. She has a strained look on her face and her eyes are glistening. I know how much she loves that house; how much we all love that house. And Pandora’s right, we do need it – it’s the glue that keep us together. This is all getting a bit too serious for my liking. They can’t honestly expect me to help save the shop.

  ‘I understand,’ I say meekly. ‘But I’m not sure what I can do.’

  Bird pats my hand. ‘You can do your best, Boolie,’ she
says. ‘That’s all any of us can do right now. Why do you think your father has been working flat-out the past few months? He’s working all hours God sends him but it’s still not enough. If it wasn’t for the café, we wouldn’t still be open. Sadly, it’s only a small part of the shop.’

  ‘Why don’t you make it bigger then?’ I say. ‘Or open it in the evenings?’

  ‘We did consider making it bigger but . . .’ She looks at Pandora. ‘Why did we decide against that, darling? There was a reason, wasn’t there?’

  ‘We couldn’t find any other space for the hat and bag stand,’ Pandora reminds her. ‘And it’s wedding season, so we can’t get rid of the hats. So few shops do them these days, it brings people in.’

  My mind starts whirring. ‘But if I could design a way of displaying them that doesn’t take up so much floor space, we could expand the café, yes?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Pandora says slowly.

  ‘This is all sounding super,’ Bird says. ‘I know you girls can work together just fabulously. But there’s one more tiny condition we need to cover, Boolie, before we start making plans.’ She lifts up the paper and reads out loud again. ‘If Julia comes into work either drunk or hungover, her position will have to be reconsidered.’

  ‘That’s hardly fair,’ I protest. ‘I’d never come in drunk. Hungover, maybe, but never drunk.’

  But Bird puts her hand up and continues. ‘I haven’t finished, darling. And Julia must attend Dr Rowebally on Wednesday the thirteenth of September for a full check up.’ She puts the paper back down on the table. ‘I’m going to toddle along with you, darling, in case you forget to mention anything. Like the empty bottle collection in your tree house, for example. And that’s it. Ready to sign, darling, or do you have any questions?’ She smiles at me brightly.

  I begged Dad to come back at twelve and take me out for an early lunch. I couldn’t bear being in the shop a moment longer than I had to with that backstabbing, sanctimonious witch, Pandora. Because of Pandora, Bird thinks I have some sort of drink problem. My darling sister only went and told her about the industrial estate incident and she didn’t stop there, oh no. She climbed into my tree house and took down all the wine and vodka empties I’d been saving for the bottle bank. She said Iris had told her about my cool bottle collection – she often climbs up to play – and asked could she have one too. Pandora had no right to search my tree house like that. How dare she? I’m sitting across the table from Dad in the Purty Kitchen, my blood still boiling. ‘Why do I have to go to see Sheila? They can’t make me.’ Sheila, Dr Rowebally, has been our family doctor for as long as I can remember but I haven’t had to visit her in years.

  ‘We’re all worried about you, Boolie,’ he says. ‘Ending up abandoned in the middle of nowhere at night is no joke. Anything could have happened. And it’s just a precaution. To check everything’s hunky-dory.’

  ‘You don’t think I have a drink problem, do you, Dad? You like the odd pint, you understand.’

  ‘Jules, you’re twenty-four and you have every right to go out and enjoy yourself, but when it starts affecting your health and your judgement . . .’ He shrugs.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my judgement. It’s not my fault some taxi drivers are pigs. And it’s not affecting my health. I’m perfectly fine.’

  ‘What about the blackouts?’

  ‘They’re not blackouts, I just fall asleep sometimes, that’s all.’

  ‘And the concussion you got at, well, you know . . .’

  ‘It’s OK, you can say it, Ed and Lainey’s engagement announcement. I wasn’t drunk. I fainted. It was shock.’

  ‘And the time you fell over and cut your leg and had to get stitches? Was that shock too? And the time the pint glass went through your foot?’

  ‘It was hardly my fault someone dropped a pint glass on my foot.’

  ‘Jules, the cut was on your sole.’

  ‘OK, I stood on a pint glass. What is this, an interrogation?’

  ‘No, Jules,’ he says gently. ‘An intervention. Unless you calm down a little, you’re going to kill yourself.’

  I snort. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Dad.’

  ‘I’m serious, Jules. I’ve been doing some reading. Fifty per cent of head injuries are due to binge drinking and a third of all fatal road—’

  I put my hands in the air. ‘Dad, stop, please! I get it. And if it keeps you all happy I’ll see Sheila, OK?’

  He looks relieved. ‘Thank you, Jules, that’s all we’re asking.’

  When I get back to the shop, Bird is behind the desk.

  ‘Where’s Pandora?’ I ask.

  ‘Visiting a client,’ she says. ‘Feeling a little better now?’

  I nod. ‘Is it all right if I go off the floor for a few hours, Bird? I want to visit a few shops in town, have a look at their interiors, get some ideas. Brown Thomas, Avoca, and maybe Urban Outfitters. And some of the little cafés around Temple Bar.’

  ‘That’s a super idea, Boolie. And I’m sorry we gave you such a hard time this morning, but best to get everything out in the open.’

  ‘Thanks, Bird. There’s just one more thing. Is there any way you could give me an advance on my wages?’

  Her eyes meet mine and I know the answer before she opens her mouth. ‘No darling, I’m sorry. It’s just not possible. But I can give you your train fare.’

  My heart sinks. ‘Just thought I’d ask.’

  The man holds the handle bars and lifts my bike off the ground with one tattooed hand. ‘Titanium,’ he says. ‘Nice. How old?’

  ‘Two years. I bought it here.’

  He scratches his nose and sniffs. ‘Did you? Cool. You’ve kept it in good nick. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s worth a lot more than I can give you for it.’ I run my fingers over the frame.

  ‘I have to, I’m afraid. But I still need to get around. I was hoping I could trade it in for a cheaper bike and you could give me the difference. I need three hundred euro.’

  ‘Do you now, cheeky monkey?’

  ‘Please?’ I beg him. ‘You’re my last hope. And as soon as I have the money, I’ll come back in and buy the most expensive bike in the shop, I promise.’

  He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Luckily for you I’m in a good mood today,’ he says. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘Julia Schuster?’ Dr Sheila Rowebally looks up from her appointments sheet, sweeps the waiting room with her eyes and then spots me. As our eyes meet, despite knowing I shouldn’t be here, that Bird’s concern is ridiculous, I feel nervous.

  ‘There you are, Julia,’ she says. ‘And Beulah. I believe you’d like to come in with Julia.’

  ‘Please. Is that all right?’ Bird asks.

  ‘If it’s OK with Julia.’

  Sheila looks at me and I nod.

  ‘Good,’ Sheila says. ‘This way, please.’ She heads out the door swiftly without waiting for us to stand up.

  I follow Bird out of the waiting room and down the corridor towards Sheila’s consultation room, smiling to myself. Bird rarely goes by her real name and it used to crack me up as a child when anyone used it; still does pretty much.

  The blue vinyl floor squeaks under my Converse, and the whole place smells of bleach mixed with the lilies from the reception desk, and I can get the metallic odour of fresh blood, although I’m sure I must be imagining it. The place has been painted since I was last here, a warm cream replacing the egg-yolk yellow, but it still smells funny.

  Sheila’s door is open and she’s already sitting down as we walk in. She looks up and gestures at the chairs pulled in front of the examination table. I sit down as Bird closes the door behind us and takes another chair close beside me. I still have butterflies in my stomach; anything medical always makes me a bit on edge.

  ‘So what can I do you for?’ Sheila smiles at us both brightly.

  Bird comes straight to the point. ‘I’m concerned about Julia’s health, Sheila. Since coming home from New Ze
aland in December, she’s been under a lot of stress.’

  Sheila looks at me carefully. ‘That right, Julia?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I say. ‘But I feel perfectly fine.’

  Sheila sits back in her chair and presses the tips of her fingers together. ‘So why are you here then exactly, if you feel fine?’

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point. We’re all a bit worried about Julia’s drinking,’ Bird says, her cheeks flaring up. ‘Her family I mean.’

  I stare down at my hands. This is so embarrassing. For everyone – for Sheila, for Bird, not to mention me. And it’s completely ridiculous. I should never have agreed to come here in the first place.

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I just like the odd drink at the weekends, is that so bad?’

  Sheila looks at me carefully. ‘Your grandmother wouldn’t drag you here for no reason, Julia. If Beulah’s concerned, let’s not discount what she’s saying, yes? First I need to get an understanding of your drinking pattern. Tell me about your average week.’ She takes a pen and a notepad off her desk. ‘Monday. Do you drink on a Monday?’

  ‘No, never.’ I stop for a second. ‘Unless there’s a party on or something. But that wouldn’t be usual.’

  ‘Good. Tuesday?’

  ‘Not normally.’

  ‘Wednesday?’

  I can feel Bird’s eyes on me.

  ‘Sometimes,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I might have a glass of wine in front of the telly.’

  ‘Beulah, is there anything you’d like to add?’ Sheila asks.

  Bird is staring at me pointedly. ‘Julia, darling, you must tell Sheila the truth.’

  ‘OK, maybe two glasses.’

  Bird is still looking at me.

  ‘Never more than a bottle,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even and in control. And it’s not a lie, not really. Mostly I do keep to the one bottle, at least every second or third night anyway.

  Sheila makes a few notes.

  ‘Thursday?’ she continues.