The Shoestring Club

by Sarah Webb

‘Depends if I’m going out or not. If I’m out I’ll have a few drinks.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Maybe three or four.’

  ‘Glasses of wine?’

  ‘Maybe. Or vodka and cranberry.’ I get the feeling Jager bombs or double vodka and Red Bulls would not be the right answer.

  ‘Good. And Friday?’

  Somehow I was hoping we wouldn’t get to the weekend. ‘I tend to go out most Friday and Saturdays, yes.’

  ‘And how many drinks would you have?’

  I shrug. Does she really expect me to remember? ‘A few.’

  ‘More than six?’

  ‘It depends on the night.’

  ‘On average would you have more than six drinks on both Friday and Saturday night, Julia?’

  She sounds stern so I answer immediately.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, my voice creeping a notch higher than normal. I cough, trying to compose myself. Is this all really necessary?

  ‘And finally, Sunday?’

  ‘I rarely go out on a Sunday.’

  Bird makes a little noise at the back of her throat.

  ‘Maybe once every couple of weeks,’ I say.

  ‘And how many drinks on a Sunday?’

  ‘Three or four.’ That doesn’t sound great so I amend it quickly. ‘More like two actually.’

  ‘And would the week you’ve just outlined be the general weekly pattern for the last nine months or so since you came home from New Zealand?’

  ‘I guess it would.’

  She pauses. ‘And in New Zealand?’

  ‘It was similar.’ I’m no fool, there’s no way I’m admitting I partied much harder when I was away.

  ‘And are you worried about anything in particular at the moment, Julia?’ she continues. ‘Anything causing you stress or anxiety?’

  ‘Not really,’ I mumble. I mean, really, where do I start? We could be here all day and I just want to get out of this place.

  Bird intervenes. ‘Julia broke up with her boyfriend in December. And he’s getting married to her best friend in October. ’

  ‘Ex-best friend,’ I say. I’m about to add ‘Stupid cow’ but I stop myself.

  A dark look flickers across Sheila’s face and while lowering her head and scribbling in her notebook, she murmurs something under her breath which sounds suspiciously like ‘Bloody men’. She lifts her head and I look at her, but the moment has passed and her face is unreadable now. I don’t know much about Sheila, but I do know her husband, a medical sales rep, recently ran off with a receptionist from another GP clinic. I overheard Bird discussing it with someone on the phone, probably Daphne.

  ‘That must have been difficult for you,’ Sheila says. ‘And are you working, Julia?’

  I nod. ‘Yes, in Shoestring. With Bird and Pandora.’

  She looks at Bird and smiles. ‘Good. Plenty of family support.’

  I’m not quite sure what Sheila meant by that; is she implying that I’m some sort of charity case that needs looking after and can only get work in the family business? But I let it go. I don’t want to be here a second longer than necessary. Then Sheila studies her notebook for a few moments and makes some marks with her pen.

  ‘Back to your drinking,’ she says. ‘Julia, at present you are averaging twenty-four units a week, maybe more if you’re drinking a lot of wine; an average glass of wine is one and a half units. For women we recommend not more than fourteen units, spread out over the week, and certainly not all over one weekend, which can have all sorts of health risks. Beulah is right to be concerned.’ She meets my eye. ‘Do you understand what binge drinking can do to you? Damage to your liver, to your whole system in fact; not to mention the risk of alcohol-related accidents. And let’s get this straight, binge drinking is problem drinking, Julia. And it is an addiction.’

  I nod. ‘Look, I’m not stupid. I know it’s not good for me. And I’m really not addicted or anything. I can give up drinking whenever I want to. I just like going out, having a laugh, simple as that. I don’t need to drink.’

  ‘That’s very good to hear, Julia,’ Sheila says. ‘I’m just going to ask you a few more questions before I check your blood pressure and do a few more tests.’

  I start to relax into my chair a little.

  ‘Have you ever had an accident while drunk?’ she says, her pen poised above her notebook again.

  Hang on, I thought the interrogation was over. I sit up straighter in my chair.

  ‘I stood on some glass once,’ I say, ‘but it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Have you ever missed an appointment or work because of a hangover?’

  ‘Once maybe.’

  ‘Do you ever drink alone?’

  ‘Not really.’

  I can feel Bird’s eyes on me again.

  ‘Sometimes,’ I say slowly. ‘But not very often.’

  ‘Do you think about alcohol and wonder when you’ll get the chance to drink again?’

  I hesitate. I know yes is the wrong answer so I say, ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Have you ever done something you’ve regretted because of alcohol?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Have you ever done something you wouldn’t have done if you were sober, or had a bad argument with someone while drunk?’

  This is getting far too personal. Of course I have, hasn’t everyone?

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Have you ever found yourself in debt because of the amount you spend on alcohol?’

  There’s an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Well, Julia?’ Sheila presses.

  I can hardly say no with Bird sitting beside me.

  ‘Sometimes I borrow money, yes. But it’s for going out, not drink. Taxis, food, festival tickets, that kind of thing. And clothes. It’s not for drink.’

  ‘I see.’ Sheila doesn’t sound convinced. ‘Just two more to go. Have you ever lied about your alcohol intake to friends or family members?’

  ‘Never.’

  I can hear Bird shifting in her seat, but I ignore her.

  ‘And finally, do you react badly when people suggest you might have a drink problem?’

  ‘NO!’ That came out a bit stronger than I’d intended. ‘I mean, no.’

  Sheila puts down her pen and looks at me. ‘Julia, thank you for being so honest with me.’

  Right at that second, I feel about an inch tall.

  ‘Now,’ she adds, ‘after we do some tests, I’d like to discuss the possibility of counselling. Would you be open to that?’

  ‘Yes, she most certainly would,’ Bird answers for me.

  ‘Beulah, please,’ Sheila says. ‘It must be Julia’s decision.’ She gives me a gentle smile. ‘Julia, I think talking to someone would really help. I believe you have an alcohol habit and I wouldn’t like to see it get any worse. Will you consider it? You may be using alcohol to deal with stressful things in your life. A counsellor could help you find other ways of coping. And I’d like you to try cutting down on your drinking immediately for health reasons. Can you do that?’

  ‘No problem. But I really don’t need counselling, Sheila, honestly. I’m fine. I’ll stop drinking completely if it makes everyone happy.’

  Bird’s face lifts and right that second I realize how concerned she’s been about me lately, which makes me feel horribly guilty. She has enough on her plate at the moment without fretting about me.

  I turn towards her. ‘I’m sorry for worrying you, Bird. I’ll stay in for the next few weeks and no drinking, OK? I promise.’ Even if I did want to, I wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway.

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Bird pats my hand.

  Sheila rubs her eyes and puts her notebook down. She gives me a warm smile. ‘That’s a good start, Julia,’ she says. ‘But if you need help at any stage, if you change your mind about the counselling, or if you find cutting down harder than you anticipated, you will contact me, yes?’

  I nod eagerly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘H
ow did it go this afternoon, Boolie?’ Dad asks after dinner, while we’re all still sitting around the table, apart from Iris. Pandora said she could watch The Simpsons as a special treat.

  ‘Fine. It was all just a misunderstanding really. I know you’re all concerned about me, but you have no reason to be, honest. I’m going on a healthy-living kick for a while. No going out and no drinking.’

  ‘You? Healthy living?’ Pandora makes a little noise, halfway between a snort and a chuckle. I look at her and she’s smiling away to herself.

  ‘What’s so funny? I ask her.

  ‘Nothing,’ she says.

  ‘Good for you, Boolie,’ Dad says quickly, ignoring Pandora. ‘We’re all proud of you, pet. And we’re all here to support you, aren’t we?’ He looks at Pandora pointedly.

  ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘And if means no more three a.m. wake-up calls and mercy dashes, I’m all for healthy living.’

  ‘Pandora!’ Bird isn’t amused. ‘Let’s not dwell on the past. Your sister is doing her best to change.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ Pandora smiles at me encouragingly. ‘It’s great, Jules, honestly. I don’t mean to be off. I’m just tired. Busy day. Oh and by the way, while you guys were seeing Sheila, that beautiful-looking girl came in with the deposit for the Farenze. Unusual name – Arietty Pilgrim. Sorry, Jules, I know you were mad about that dress. But you’re going to have to let it go.’

  I try not to look too delighted. Arietty timed part one of our plan to perfection.

  ‘There’ll be other dresses. At least it’s going to a good home.’

  Pandora looks at me suspiciously. ‘You’re taking it very well.’

  I shrug. ‘It’s only a frock.’

  ‘Very sensible, Boolie,’ Dad says. ‘And by the way, who owns the mountain bike in the hall I nearly fell over earlier? And where’s your bike?’

  ‘I sold it,’ I say simply. ‘That’s my new one.’

  Dad frowns. ‘It looks a bit battered. Are you sure it’s road worthy? And why did you sell your old one?’

  ‘I owed a friend some money and I wanted to pay back all my debts, start afresh,’ I say. ‘Now my only outstanding loans are to you guys.’

  He smiles at me. ‘You really have turned a corner, haven’t you, pet? I’m proud of you, sorting out your finances like that.’

  ‘Hang on a sec,’ Pandora says. Unlike Dad, she doesn’t look happy. ‘Why didn’t you pay me back first? Or Bird, or Dad?’

  ‘You’re family,’ I say.

  ‘So we don’t count, is that it?’ Pandora sits back in her seat and gives a disgusted huff.

  ‘Pandora, who’s minding Iris tonight while you and Bird are off warbling with the Proddy choir?’ I ask. ‘Dad’s at his book club. Which leaves who exactly?’

  I look Pandora square in the eye. ‘You just presumed I’d do it, didn’t you? Now, I could charge you for all the hours of childminding, but I’m not going to do that. Because I love Iris and because we’re family.’ I smile smugly.

  She scowls back at me. She knows I’ve won.

  ‘How would you like to go cycling, Iris?’ We’re sitting in front of the telly but Come Dine with Me has just come on and it’s just not the same without a glass of wine in my hand. I need something to take my mind off the ‘Just one glass, who’s going to know’ thoughts that are creeping into my brain.

  ‘Cool! Thanks, Auntie Jules. Right now you mean?’

  I give it one more try. ‘Just Jules, remember? And yes, right now. Go and get your helmet.’

  ‘But you don’t always wear one, Auntie Jules.’

  OK, I give up. Auntie Jules it is. ‘I’m a grown up. And until you’re eighteen you helmet up, understand?’

  She nods. ‘Fine, I’ll wear it.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  She finds her helmet, plonks it on her head and then we go outside to fetch her bike from the shed.

  ‘Wait for me here, Iris, OK?’ I say, leaving her at the top of the path as I go back inside the house to grab my own bike. I’ve just closed the front door behind me when I see Iris whizzing down the paving stones on her small pink bike, over the pavement and towards the road.

  I scream, ‘Iris!’, drop my bike on the ground and sprint down the path towards her.

  Thankfully I see someone has already grabbed her handlebars and dragged her to a stop. I reach her and realize with a start that it’s Jamie. I look at him for a split second before turning my attention to Iris.

  ‘You all right, Iris?’ I say, my heart still pounding in my chest. ‘I told you to wait. You could have got knocked down. You gave me such a fright.’

  ‘Sorry, Auntie Jules,’ she replies. ‘I forgot to use the brakes.’ She looks so shaken I soften.

  ‘Next time wait for me, OK? Promise me?’

  ‘I promise,’ she says solemnly.

  I turn back to Jamie. ‘Thanks. That could have been nasty.’ My cheeks flare up instantly, remembering my garbled message and the fact that he’d never returned my call.

  ‘Any time,’ he says. He looks a little distant, his eyes not fully focusing on mine.

  And then I can’t stand it any longer, I have to know, so I blurt out, ‘I rang you, left a message. Why didn’t you ring back?’

  He blows the air out of his mouth. ‘It’s complicated, Jules. I don’t want to go into it right now.’ He gives a little nod in Iris’s direction. ‘Things are a bit up in the air at the moment . . .’ he tails off.

  ‘Can we go cycling now, Auntie Jules?’ Iris is getting impatient. ‘Please? It’s already a bit dark.’

  She’s right, the light is fading fast. We shouldn’t really be out at all without lights. We’ll have to stay in the cul de sac, under the street lamps.

  ‘I have to go, Jamie,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll ring you,’ he says.

  ‘Where have I heard that one before?’ I ask him. ‘Don’t bother.’ Then I turn towards Iris. ‘Stay here, Iris. With your brakes on this time, OK? I need to fetch my bike. Don’t move an inch.’ And with that I turn away from Jamie and march back up the path, towards the house. I can feel his eyes on my back but I don’t turn around. By the time I do, he’s disappeared.

  ‘Are you all right, Auntie Jules?’ Iris asks when I walk back, wheeling my bike. ‘You look sad? Are you still cross with me?’

  ‘No, pet, I’m fine. Let’s have a quick cycle and then I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we can watch some telly.’

  ‘With marshmallows?’ she asks eagerly.

  ‘With marshmallows.’

  She beams at me. ‘You’re the best auntie in the whole wide world.’

  I smile back at her. At least someone appreciates me.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Excuse me, I’d like a second opinion on this outfit.’ I look up slowly from my copy of Wallpaper magazine the following afternoon. Pandora nearly had a knicker attack when she caught me reading at the till earlier until I explained that I was looking for inspiration for the Shoestring refit, which is partly true. But I’m mainly flicking through the stylish interior pages ’cause I’m feeling a bit glandy and in no mood for tidying the rails or dealing with customers.

  The white-haired woman standing in front of me is appallingly dressed in a white shirt that cuts her generous hips at just the wrong place, black trousers that are skimming her ankles, grey socks and brown lace-up shoes. Do we really sell clothes like that? We must do.

  I step away from the desk and take a better look.

  Shaking my head I say ‘It’s not great, I’m afraid. Completely wrong for your body shape. It makes you look frumpy and you have a great waist. You should show it off more, nip the shirt in with a belt. But the trousers, no, they really do nothing for you.’

  ‘I meant this outfit.’ The woman holds up the hanger she was clutching. She looks at me, her eyebrows raised.

  Oops. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmur.

  But she looks more amused than annoyed. Her brown eyes are dancing beneath her s
lightly bushy eyebrows.

  ‘Do I really look that awful?’ She stares down at her clothes, her gaze stopping at her shoes. She wiggles a foot. ‘These old things are hardly fashionable I know, but they’re very comfortable. And I’ve had these trousers for years, I suppose they are due for retirement. But at my age, it’s difficult to know what to wear.’ She looks at me again. ‘You seem an honest kind of girl, what should I be wearing, so I don’t look so appalling? Would this suit me?’

  She nods at the two piece she’s holding up, a shapeless, flowery blue and white shirt with a very full matching skirt.

  I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not. The print looks like a duvet cover and the skirt’s going to balloon over your hips.’

  She sighs. ‘Ah yes, my hips. Always my downfall.’

  ‘You just have to be clever, dress for your figure,’ I say. ‘Why don’t I pick out something that might suit you better? Is there anything in particular you need an outfit for?’

  She smiles. ‘Yes, actually. My wedding anniversary. Forty years with the same wonderful man.’

  I whistle. ‘Impressive. Now are we thinking vibrant and sexy, or classic and demure?’

  She gives a hearty laugh. ‘Vibrant and sexy sounds perfect.’

  In the end I spend forty minutes dressing Mrs Bloomfield. By the time I’ve finished she’s asked me to call her Hester.

  ‘You really do have a gift for this, Julia,’ Hester says at the till as I start ringing up what she’s decided to take. ‘I hate to think what my husband will say when he sees the credit card bill.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘I haven’t had as much fun shopping in years. But you will write down the outfits you’ve suggested, won’t you, dear? I’ll only go and muddle them up otherwise and wear the purple jacket and trousers together or something.’

  I’d found a wonderfully rich purple velvet jacket and trousers for her, which worn together make Hester look like a plum, but separately look fantastic.

  ‘I think we can do one better than that.’ I rummage in the large drawer under the till until I locate the digital camera Pandora uses to take snaps of new stock for the Shoestring website.

  ‘Bingo.’ I pull it out. ‘If you have a few minutes, I’ll take a pic of the dummy in each of the outfits, Hester. Then I’ll email you the pics and you’ll have a record of them at home. How about that?’