The Shoestring Club

by Sarah Webb

  Bird claps her hands together. ‘That’s settled then. Now tell us about these elephants you’re planning to make for the entrance, darling, and then let’s get home. How about a takeaway for tea to celebrate the new plan?’ It’s Bird’s night to cook and she’s always looking for ways to get off the hook.

  Iris claps her hands together. ‘Yeah! Can we have curry, Bird?’

  Bird smiles. ‘In honour of what Boolie tells me are Asian elephants, generally found in India, then yes, my darling, we most certainly can.’

  That evening, after dinner, I print out Hester’s photographs in the living room. I’m just clicking into our Farenze dress blog to check for messages or comments, when Bird walks through the door.

  ‘There you are, darling,’ she says. ‘Pandora just told us about your styling idea. You’re full of clever thoughts these days.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too carried away, it may never come to anything, and I have the shop revamp to work on first, remember?’

  She pulls up a chair beside mine. ‘I’m very proud of you, Boolie. You’ve really applied yourself this week. Even Pandora’s impressed. I’m so glad the two of you are working so well together. It means a lot to me and to your father.’

  I’m filled with a warm feeling. It’s not often I make Bird and Dad happy. And I guess the frozen lake of emotion between Pandora and me does seem to be gradually thawing.

  Then Bird’s eyes rest on the screen.

  ‘The Shoestring Club,’ she reads out loud. ‘What’s that? Something to do with the shop?’

  Join The Shoestring Club

  Faith Farenze on a Shoestring

  Wanted: Two girls to time-share a one of a kind Faith Farenze dress, in dark-pink silk chiffon.

  Guaranteed to make you look drop-dead gorgeous.

  An instant self-confidence boost.

  All enquiries to theshoestringclub@irmail.com

  Blood pumps into my cheeks. I hadn’t realized I’d left the blog up on the screen. Before I get a chance to click out of the page, Bird’s eyes have scanned the rest of the text, and are resting on the photograph of the chiffon dress, on one of the Shoestring mannequins.

  ‘That dress looks very familiar. Isn’t it the Farenze Pandora has on hold in the office for one of our customers?’ She stares at me. ‘Julia, what’s going on? Out with it. Tell me you’re not doing something stupid, darling. Something illegal.’

  I laugh. ‘No, of course not. I was going to tell you, it’s just been so busy and . . .’ I tail off, fishing frantically for a good excuse, but coming up with exactly nothing.

  ‘Continue,’ Bird says.

  I guess I’ll just have to tell her the truth, much as it pains me. ‘I bought a share in the Faith Farenze dress,’ I say, my voice quivering a little with nerves. ‘The one from the shop.’

  ‘A share? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Me and Arietty, the girl who has the dress on hold, can’t afford to buy it on our own so we came up with a plan. We’ve each put in three hundred euro, and now we’re looking for two more girls . . .’ Bird is staring at me. As soon as I see the expression on her face, I stop instantly.

  ‘Where did you get the three hundred euro?’ she asks, her eyes narrowing. I stare at the computer screen, wishing the blog would disappear in front of my eyes. In fact . . . I put a hand out to switch off the computer, but Bird stops me by swatting it away.

  ‘Answer me, Julia.’

  ‘My bike,’ I say in a tiny voice. ‘I used the money I got for my bike.’

  ‘You blatantly lied to me, and to your father? Is that correct?’

  My cheeks flare up again. ‘I’m so sorry. But I have to wear the dress, Bird. Just once. And then I’ll sell my share instantly, I promise. And give you all back your money.’

  She rubs her hands over her eyes and sighs deeply. ‘Don’t you see, Julia? It’s not about the money. It’s about trust. And why do you need this ruddy dress so much?’

  ‘For Ed and Lainey’s wedding. I have to look amazing. I won’t stay long, honestly. I just want to show everyone that I don’t care, that I’m over him. It’s important.’ I pause. ‘But it’s unlikely to happen now. Our blog’s been up for days, and no one has contacted us or left a message. We’ve put ads up on Gumtree and ebay and Buy and Sell; no one’s interested in sharing the dress with us. It’s a stupid idea.’

  Bird’s face softens. ‘Actually I think it’s rather inspired. But I do wish you hadn’t lied to all of us.’ She stops for a moment, looks at the blog. ‘What’s that?’ She points at the bottom of the screen.

  A message has just popped up.

  She reads it out loud. ‘Please send more details of the dress – size, length, cost etc. May be interested. Alex.’ She looks at me. ‘You might just be in business.’

  ‘If we can find another taker in three days,’ I point out glumly. ‘Pandora has given Arietty until Monday to pay the full amount, otherwise the dress goes back into stock.’ I stare at her. ‘Hang on, does this mean you’re not going to tell Pandora about the money?’

  A smile plays over Bird’s lips. ‘I have a suggestion. Has Pandora shown any interest in the dress?’

  ‘I caught her trying it on once, yes. But she’s just as broke as I am. Plus she said she had nothing to wear it to.’

  ‘To wear it to, or to wear it for?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘As you keep so kindly pointing out to everyone who will listen, your sister rarely goes out. And she’s unlikely to meet anyone under sixty through the choir.’

  I smile. ‘A creaky old sexagenarian might be right up her street.’

  ‘Less of the creaky, thank you. No, she needs to meet someone her own age. Someone who will accept her for who she is. You’ve never had any problem meeting men, darling.’

  ‘The wrong kind of men,’ I splutter. ‘Look at Ed, he ran off with my best friend.’

  She smiles tightly. ‘The less said about that boy the better. I want you to bring Pandora out, introduce her to some people her own age. There must be some decent young men out there, they can’t all be losers, surely?’

  I smile wryly. ‘You’d be surprised, Bird.’

  She laughs, then says, ‘If you find Pandora someone to wear the dress for, I’ll keep your little secret to myself. And I’ll pay for Pandora’s share in the Farenze.’

  My mouth falls open. I stare at her. She’s smiling and her eyes are sparkling.

  ‘Are you serious, Bird?’

  ‘But of course, darling. I never joke about love. Or money. Especially money.’

  Chapter 13

  I’m pacing my room, willing Pandora to go out. It’s been a really full-on week and now that it’s finally Friday night all I feel like doing is collapsing in front of the telly with a drink. I spotted an open bottle of white in the fridge earlier and I’m gagging for a sip. I know I’m not supposed to be drinking at all, but one glass to celebrate the end of the week is hardly a big deal.

  Dad’s out with Bird at a choir social. Pandora’s supposed to be going too, leaving Iris with me, but for some reason my sister seems to be lingering in the kitchen like a bad smell. I look at my watch; it’s nearly nine, Iris is already in bed, so what the hell is Pandora doing exactly? The social will be almost over by now.

  I walk down the stairs and fling open the kitchen door. Pandora looks up at me from the kitchen table. She’s dressed to go out, as dressed up as she normally gets anyway. She’s still in her black work trousers, but has exchanged her neat white shirt for a surprisingly low-cut black top with flamenco ruffles on the ends of the short sleeves. There’s a slash of crimson on her lips and she’s even pinned the sides of her hair up with sparkly red clips.

  ‘What do you think?’ she says.

  ‘Of your outfit?’

  ‘No, this one.’ She points down at a page of the magazine. A model is wearing raspberry-pink, chunky-knit woollen tights in an Aran pattern with a matching pink leotard and pink hair. Very OTT, but the ti
ghts are fab.

  I scrunch up my face. ‘Not sure you’d get away with the leotard. You might give the old lads in the choir heart attacks.’

  ‘I’m talking about the tights. And not for me, for the shop. They’re by a young Irish designer called Maeve Fabien. Reasonably priced too considering they’re hand-knitted.’

  ‘You’re taking in new stock?’

  ‘I’m thinking about it. There are gaps in our own stock – T-shirt basics, tights, corsetry, accessories. If we’re going to offer a full styling service it makes sense. Means we could support up and coming designers too.’ She frowns a little. ‘But maybe it’s too ambitious? Do you think we should play it safe, stick to what we know, or experiment a bit?’

  I sit down at the table and study Pandora’s face. She seems serious. ‘You’re really looking for my opinion?’ I can’t help but smile.

  She puts one elbow on the table and rests her head in her hand. ‘Why is that so amusing?’

  ‘Because you think I’m a fuckwit.’

  She sighs. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘OK then, a waste of space.’

  She’s quiet for a second. Then she says, ‘Fine, I admit that sometimes your lack of appliance drives me crazy.’

  I grin. ‘Appliance? You mean like a washing machine?’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean, stop being smart. You don’t apply yourself. You bounce from one job to the next, and then get fed up or bored, and go travelling.’

  ‘I’m here now,’ I point out. ‘And in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been working my ass off in your stupid shop. You wouldn’t want to be thin-skinned in this house.’

  ‘Yes, I agree, you’ve had a good week, but it’s all so up in the air with you. Next week you might decide to jack it all in and go and be, oh I don’t know, an elephant keeper, like that friend of yours Iris keeps banging on about. Did Iris give you the elephant picture she drew for her by the way?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oops, where did I put it?

  Taking in my face she says, ‘You haven’t gone and lost it, have you?’

  Iris drew this amazing picture for Arietty to say thank you – Beatrix, Enid, Nina and Kai, all playing in the waterpool, Iris herself standing behind them with a big banana grin on her face, holding Arietty’s hand. She worked on it every day in her after-school club. On the back she wrote:

  From Iris Schuster, age 8. I want to work in the zoo like you one day, Arieti. I love you. XXXXX

  She made me promise to pass it on to Arietty. Then it comes to me: it’s in the living room, on the desk beside the computer. Phew.

  ‘Of course not,’ I say indignantly.

  ‘Good. And thanks for taking Iris to the zoo,’ she adds, her face softening a little. ‘She had a ball.’

  ‘Anytime. And I know you’re not all that keen on her having a dog but—’

  ‘Not this again. Jules, no! Understand? N-O spells no. Absolutely not. I have enough problems without a puppy chewing up the place and weeing on everything.’

  ‘What about a cat? We could visit the Animal Shelter—’

  ‘Drop it, Jules. No animals, full stop.’ She sits back in her chair and scrunches up her shoulders, groaning a little. ‘God, I’m so tired.’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be going out.’

  ‘Don’t think I’ll bother now. Might just go to bed.’

  ‘You’ll never meet anyone that way.’

  She frowns. ‘Meet anyone? What are you on about? Who says I want to meet someone? I’m quite happy on my own, thanks very much. What’s up with you tonight? First you try and foist a stray dog on me, now a man. It’s the hen thing, isn’t it? That’s what’s got you all angsty.’

  I stare at her. ‘What hen thing?’

  ‘Don’t act the innocent, Lainey’s hen. It’s tonight isn’t it?’

  I go pale and her face colours a little. ‘Shit, Jules, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘How do you know about it?’

  ‘Lainey’s big mouth aunt’s in the choir. Marie. She’s been boasting about it for weeks.’

  ‘But Marie’s in her fifties. Why would she be going?’

  ‘They’re having some sort of posh dinner tonight in Dublin for all the Anderson aunts and old family friends, then Lainey and her sisters are heading off to some spa in Wicklow for the weekend. I’m really sorry, Jules. I know it must be hard on you.’

  Pandora looks at me, and I hate seeing the pity in her eyes.

  I feel a bit teary, but I’m trying to keep it together. ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘We’re not exactly friends any more.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Jules? Is there anything—’

  ‘I’m just great.’ I get up, grab the first glass I see, one of Iris’s favourite pink glass tumblers from the draining board, walk towards the fridge and pull it open so hard that the bottles in the door clink together. I pull out the white wine.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Pandora says. ‘I thought you were off the booze.’

  I swing around. ‘I said I’d cut down, OK? And I haven’t had a drink all week, which in my book is cutting down. But right now I fancy a single solitary glass of wine. Please don’t go blabbing about it to Bird or Dad. They’ll only start going on at me again.’

  ‘Because they’re concerned about you, Jules.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. So no one needs to worry a dot. I just need a bit of time on my own. I’m sure you understand.’ And with that I walk out of the kitchen.

  A few minutes later there’s a knock on the front door. If Pandora has summoned Bird or Dad home to deal with me, I’ll quite literally kill her. And there’s no way I’m working in Shoestring if— But then I stop. It can’t be Bird or Dad, they have their own keys.

  I hear voices in the hallway, Pandora has obviously let someone in. I open the living-room door just in time to catch her say in a low voice, ‘Go easy on her, Jamie. It’s Lainey’s hen tonight and—’

  ‘Thank you, Pandora,’ I cut in. ‘Don’t you have somewhere to be?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll bother now, can’t raise the energy.’ She yawns deeply. ‘Night, Jamie. See you in the morning, Jules. Take it easy on the wine, OK?’

  I ignore her.

  As she climbs the stairs I stay fixed to the spot, staring at Jamie, not knowing quite what to say or if I’m pleased to see him or not.

  He’s standing there, just as awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. There’s a laptop cradled in his arms.

  ‘Hi, Jules,’ he says after a few long seconds. ‘Look, I’m sorry about the other day.’ He pauses and gives a nervous smile. ‘I seem to spend my time apologizing to you. Anyway, I’m happy to help you design a new skin. And I thought you might like to see some of the Bold Tales animation I’ve been working on.’

  I’m still annoyed with him from our last encounter, and I don’t want to smile back at him, but my mouth has other ideas.

  ‘I’d like that,’ I hear myself say. ‘Come on in.’

  He follows me into the living room and then looks around. ‘Is there a plug? I’m pretty low on battery.’

  I point at the wall behind the computer and he settles himself on the office chair, then hands me Iris’s elephant picture before putting his laptop down on the wood.

  He grins. ‘Cute. This what you spend your evenings doing, Jules? Sketching elephants?’

  ‘It’s Iris’s, you goon.’ As he sets up his computer, I tell him about our trip and about Arietty. ‘She’s gorgeous too, even looked stunning in her zoo uniform. I could introduce you guys if you like.’

  Jamie gives me a funny look. ‘I don’t think so, Jules.’ He focuses his attention on the laptop screen. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’ His voice wobbles a little. ‘This thing happened in Galway. Sorry, “thing” is the wrong word.’ He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. ‘It’s just so hard . . .’ he stops.

  I pull over a chair. ‘Take your time, Jamie. I’m not going any
where.’ When we were teenagers and Jamie had something important or more often, upsetting, to tell me, it always took him ages to get the words out.

  After a long pause he says, ‘There was this girl, she was really special.’

  And as soon he says it I have a strange sensation, like my guts are being twisted. It can’t be jealousy can it? We haven’t been close for years and we’ve never been that close.

  He continues ‘But she . . .’

  While he starts talking again, about how he met this girl, I try to focus on something else, willing the tension I’m feeling to ease. I stare out of the window, into the darkness of the garden, fixing my eyes on the tree house. I notice the rope ladder is looking a bit worn, probably needs to be replaced.

  ‘Hang on, can you see that?’ I jump up and point at a flicker of light. It’s coming from inside my tree house.

  ‘What?’ He gets up and joins me at the window.

  I point. ‘Up there.’ I press my face against the glass, cup my hand over my eyes and peer out. There it goes again, a bright pinprick of red.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask him. ‘Can you see? Just inside the window.’

  ‘You don’t have a candle lit up there, do you?’

  ‘No. Why? You think it’s a flame?’ My stomach lurches. Not my tree house, please no.

  ‘I supposed we’d better check . . .’ Jamie begins, but I’m already out of the door. Seconds later I’m standing under the oak tree, completely panicked. I sniff the air, and right enough it smells a little smoky, but I don’t see any flames. I grab the end of the rope ladder and start to climb, cursing myself for not allowing Dad to build a proper fixed ladder years ago. I always liked being able to pull up the rope ladder, it stopped Pandora or the adults having access to my own secret world while I was up there.

  The small wooden door is open, which is strange, I’m always careful to close it. I left it open once years ago and when I next climbed up two startled magpies flew at me, hitting my face with their surprisingly strong wings; I’ve never forgotten it. Their beady eyes starred in my nightmares for months to come.