The Shoestring Club

by Sarah Webb

‘Are you deranged?’ I ask him.

  He just chuckles. ‘Where’s this misbehaving Wii then?’

  ‘Follow me.’ I lead him into the living room and point at the offending machine.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it. Fancy a drink?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll have a coffee if it’s going.’

  ‘Coffee?’ I look at him. ‘It’s Saturday night. I’ll get you a beer.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’ There’s a strange expression on his face and I can’t quite read it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask. ‘Why do you look so guilty?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘I’m not going to argue with you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you’re looking for me. Fixing you a beer.’ I can feel his eyes follow me out of the room, but I just keep walking. He’s behaving very oddly. I’m grateful for the excuse to have a drink. I need one to calm my jittery nerves. I can’t let go of the fact that Pandora and Bird think I’m a mess. I’m doing my best. What do they bloody expect? An overnight transformation? I may as well prove them right.

  A few minutes later, I’m trying to open a bottle of white plonk. The pantry where the drink is kept has a shiny new padlock on the door, Bird’s idea no doubt, which is completely laughable. I’m too amused to be insulted. There’s no beer in the fridge but luckily I’d spotted a bottle right at the back of the kitchen cupboard a few days ago. From the dull sheen on the glass and the ripped label it looks like it’s been there forever, but it will do. It’s lodged between my thighs, and I’m attempting to pull the stubborn cork out with a useless corkscrew when Jamie walks in.

  ‘Did you get the Wii working?’ I ask him.

  He nods. ‘Just had to reload the game. Iris is happily bowling away now.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I hand him the wine bottle. ‘Here, you try. Bloody thing’s stuck. Sorry, we’re out of beer.’

  He takes the bottle off me and plonks it down on the table, the opener sticking out of the top like a flag on Mount Everest.

  ‘I don’t want a drink,’ he says. ‘A coffee will do me grand.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday night.’

  ‘So you said.’ He looks at me, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘OK, what’s going on here, have I missed something? You’re being really weird.’

  He points at the table. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘No. I’m perfectly happy standing. Spit it out.’ I park my bum against the kitchen counter and cross my arms.

  He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. ‘I was checking the computer at the till the other night and I overheard Bird talking to you about your drinking.’

  I snort and then start to laugh. ‘Not you as well. Jamie, I’m twenty-four, not fifty. I’m entitled to a few drinks every now and then. And I’m not listening to a lecture on drinking from you of all people.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Hello, beer boy. Entered any drinking competitions lately? Oh, and sorry, what about that Mr Iron Stomach thing? I seem to remember you managed to down a pint of cooking oil plus a whole bottle of ketchup before you brought it all back up again. No, hang on, it was the goo from the inside of a cow’s eye that made you vomit, wasn’t it? Daphne told Bird the whole sordid story.’

  ‘That was a college thing. Look, I’ve been thinking about it and Bird has a point. You do drink a lot.’

  ‘That’s nonsense and you know it, Jamie. And right now I’m going to have some evil alcohol. If you’re not going to join me, you can get out.’

  I go to pick up the wine bottle but he gets there first. He reefs the cork out, flings the opener onto the table with a clatter, strides past me and starts to pour the whole bottle down the sink.

  ‘Jamie, stop!’ I try to grab it off him but it’s no use, he holds me away with one arm.

  I thump his back, hard.

  ‘Jesus, Jules, that hurt.’

  ‘It was meant to. What are you doing? That’s such a waste.’

  ‘Why are you so upset? It’s only cheap supermarket plonk. And from the smell of it, I think it’s corked.’

  ‘You have no right—’

  ‘To look after you? I have every right. Don’t you get it? I care about you, Jules. And Bird’s right about your drinking. You need to stop.’

  ‘What is it with you people? I like the odd drink, well big deal. I wish the lot of you would just leave me alone, Jamie. In fact, I’d like you to go now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. Get out.’

  ‘You’re not being rational. I’m not going anywhere until you calm down.’

  ‘Calm down?’ I say, my voice sounding a little hysterical even to my ears. ‘I was perfectly calm until you barged your way in here and poured good wine down the sink. Most visitors bring drink, they don’t get rid of it. Ed brought vodka—’As soon as it’s out I regret it, but too late now.

  Jamie’s eyes flicker. ‘When? Recently?’

  Yikes, now I’ve done it. But I’m too angry to care.

  ‘The night he appeared in my tree house,’ I say. ‘Grey Goose and a bottle of cranberry. He even thought to bring plastic cups.’

  Jamie stares at me for a moment, then his face hardens. ‘He was still there when you went back home from my place, wasn’t he?’

  I jut out my chin. ‘Yes. And we drank ourselves stupid. Perfectly normal weekend behaviour. When did you get so boring?’

  He picks up the empty bottle and shoves it roughly into the swing bin. ‘Needing to get wasted all the time isn’t normal, Jules. That night we went to Finnegan’s with Arietty, you threw all your drinks down like it was some sort of race, then when we left the pub you nearly got knocked down. You walked straight out into the road, remember? Luckily that jeep saw you and swerved away in time.’

  I have no idea what he’s talking about so I keep my mouth shut.

  ‘And then I had to practically carry you the whole way up the hill,’ he continues. ‘I’m sorry, Jules, it’s gone too far. I’m going to ask Bird to find you an addiction counsellor.’

  My eyes prick with tears. How dare he? ‘You do that and I will never speak to you again. Do you understand me? Never!’

  He sighs. ‘I can’t talk to you any more. I have to go. And for God’s sake, please don’t drink while you’re minding Iris.’

  ‘Get out,’ I say coldly.

  He looks at me, his eyes dark. ‘Jules—’

  ‘Just go.’

  ‘I’m going.’ He turns his back to me and marches out the door. As soon as I’m sure he’s left, I start to cry hot, angry tears. I wipe them away with the back of my hand and walk into the living room.

  ‘Bed, Iris. Right this second, no complaints.’

  ‘But Auntie Jules. I’m in the middle of bowling.’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, Iris, I’m not in the mood.’

  The edges of her mouth start wobbling. ‘Sorry.’

  I feel bad for snapping at her, she doesn’t deserve it. She switches off the console and stands on her tippy toes to kiss me.

  ‘Night, Auntie Jules. Your eyes are a bit red. Are you OK?’

  If only she knew. ‘I’m just tired, pet. And sorry for snapping at you.’

  She nods. ‘Mummy gets tired a lot. I’m sorry for annoying you.’

  ‘You didn’t, honestly.’ I give her the best smile I can manage. ‘Sleep well, Iris. Have good dreams.’

  ‘Thanks, Auntie Jules. Love you.’

  ‘Love you to the moon,’ I say, quoting one of her favourite books.

  ‘And back,’ she adds with a giggle.

  As soon as she’s toddled up the stairs, I find Dad’s toolbox, grab a screwdriver and start unscrewing the bolt mechanism on the pantry door. I don’t care what anyone says, it’s perfectly normal to fancy a drink on a Saturday night. Jamie Clear can go to hell.

  Chapter 19

  I tap my glass with my fork. ‘I now call the very first Shoestring Club handover dinner to order.’

  Arietty giggles and Pandora rolls her eyes. We’r
e sitting in the Shoestring Café booth, which is tucked away at the back, beside the courtyard. Dad built it into an awkward space using reclaimed Victorian old church pews, and the wooden seats and backs are scattered with heaps of feather-filled cushions (Pan- dora’s idea). It’s always been my favourite spot, it’s like a cocoon.

  Pandora brought the Farenze with her and it’s now hanging safely in the office. It’s Arietty’s turn to wear it next – at her school reunion – and Pandora didn’t want it picking up any food smells during dinner.

  The café is doing surprisingly well. It’s only been open for evening meals since the refit, but most of the tables are full and it’s barely 7 p.m. From looking at the reservation book, by eight it will be jammers. Klaudia, Lenka and Draza are doing an amazing job; there are delicious smells wafting from the open kitchen. I don’t know how they prepare such amazing food in such a small space but they seem to be managing admirably.

  Bird is delighted with the whole café enterprise and has already offered Klaudia a large chunk of every evening’s takings, which has made her a little less sullen. However I had to laugh when Klaudia pressed her lips together after Bird told her – I was at the counter at the time – and said ‘Good. We deserve a cut. We work hard. Me and my mother, not so much Lenka.’

  I sink back against the cushions and smile. ‘I don’t know about you, Arietty, but I’m dying to hear all about Pandora’s ball. She refused to go into details this week, said she wanted to save it for tonight. So go on then, put me out of my misery, sis.’

  Pandora straightens the cutlery in front of her. ‘Not much to tell really. It was in the Four Seasons Hotel which is pretty swish. I didn’t recognize a soul, but Declan knew lots of people there, family friends, and the crowd we sat with were pretty nice. Doctors most of them, Hester’s husband is an obstetrician.’

  ‘What was the ball in aid of?’ Arietty asks.

  ‘Parnell Maternity Hospital. Buying new equipment for premature babies.’

  ‘What about the dress?’ I say, cutting to the chase. ‘Did anyone comment on it?’

  Pandora smiles broadly, and then laughs. ‘Yes, actually. Several women spotted the designer and one even asked if she could buy it off me.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘No, of course. But I must admit I was tempted. And it’s so easy to dance in, you don’t spend half the night hoiking it up your chest, worried you’re going to flash a nipple, like with strapless dresses. Plus Declan didn’t stop complimenting me all night.’

  I smile. ‘Did you get a goodnight kiss?’

  Pandora blushes. ‘Jules! I’m not telling you that.’

  ‘You did, didn’t you? When are you seeing him again?’

  Pandora rolls some breadcrumbs under her finger. ‘That’s none of your beeswax either.’ She looks up and can’t help breaking into a smile. ‘But if you must know, he’s taking me out tomorrow night. To the theatre. Some sort of Munster Rugby play but it sounds fun.’

  I lift my eyebrows. ‘The theatre. La, di, da. How civilized.’ Then I notice my notebook on the table in front of me. ‘Shoot, I meant to take notes for our blog.’

  ‘What blog?’ Pandora stares at me a little suspiciously.

  I haven’t mentioned the blog to Pandora yet; I wasn’t sure what her reaction would be. But she’s in such a good mood this evening I think I’ll chance it.

  ‘It’s called The Shoestring Club,’ I say. ‘We set it up to find co-owners for the dress. That’s how we found Alex. She’s our fourth time-share partner. I started telling you about her in the shop one day but we got distracted by a customer. Anyway a quarter of the dress belongs to a girl called Alex Cinnamon who found us on the internet via the blog. She lives in Wicklow. She can’t be here tonight, so she suggested we chart the progress of the dress on the blog. Where it was worn, pics of the dress at the event, that kind of thing.’

  Pandora’s brow wrinkles. ‘It sounds a bit odd. What do you think, Arietty? In fact, I must apologize for my sister, she hasn’t let you get a word in edgeways yet.’

  Arietty shrugs. ‘I don’t mind. And I’m not one for writing, but I like the idea of pictures. Like an online scrapbook.’

  ‘Fantastic idea,’ I say. ‘We could show all the different ways to style a dress, using the Farenze as an example. Starting with your ensemble, Pandora. Classic yet chic. Did Declan take any photos of you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admits. ‘Lots. On his iPhone, but I’m not sure they’d be good enough quality—’

  ‘They’ll be perfect,’ I say. ‘Jamie said the blog’s getting a surprising amount of traffic for something so new. But we need to start adding more content. He suggested putting up some details of who we all are. He said it didn’t have to be too personal, just our likes and dislikes or something like that.’

  As soon as I say the word traffic, Pandora’s ears prick up and she looks at me. ‘Can we link the blog to the Shoestring website?’

  I smile. She never misses a business opportunity. ‘’Course we can, sis.’

  The Shoestring Club Blog

  Four girls, one remarkable dress

  Our members:

  Julia (Jules) – works in Shoestring Designer Swop Shop, Monkstown Crescent, Dublin.

  Likes: travelling, clothes, style and art magazines, old 1980s movies like Pretty in Pink and The Breakfast Club, tree houses, cycling, parties.

  Dislikes: ironing, karaoke, sheep-like slaves to fashion, velour tracksuits, motorists who don’t respect cyclists, swallowing flies, spiders – especially large black woolly ones – Daddy Long Legs, moths (all flying insects in fact), fake tan (especially the smell), fake friends.

  Arietty – works with animals.

  Likes: elephants, big cats (tigers, lions and snow leopards; not so much cheetahs or pumas), reading in bed, silence, sunflowers, putting together flat-pack furniture.

  Dislikes: celery, farm animals, any events you have to get dressed up for, flying, people asking her where she’s from.

  Pandora – runs Shoestring (see Jules’s entry).

  Likes: movies, boxed sets – especially anything medical or political dramas, pillow fights with her daughter, reading her daughter stories, singing, karaoke, fashion, vintage clothes, especially anything by Chanel, Prada or Farenze, ladybirds, good manners.

  Dislikes: working on a Sunday, lazy people, being tired, bad manners, getting wool in your mouth, seeing sound booms in movies.

  Alex – looks after one husband and three dogs.

  Likes: cake, animals – especially dogs, her husband Markham (he should be first in fact!), charm bracelets, open fires, reading cookery books and testing out new recipes.

  Dislikes: anyone who is cruel to animals, blood sports, cold callers, mushrooms, when her internet connection goes down, crowds.

  We are delighted to announce that our Faith Farenze dress has had its first outing – to the October Ball in aid of the Parnell Maternity Hospital. It was worn by Pandora and she has reported back many compliments on the dress.

  It was styled with a silver Lara Bohinc belt, silver peep-toe courts, a cream beaded shrug, and a hot orange bag.

  The Farenze will next be worn to Arietty’s school reunion on Saturday 20th October. Stay tuned for more details on that!

  And for more outstanding dresses and once-worn designer and vintage pieces visit Shoestring, Monkstown Crescent, Dublin or visit our website: www.shoestring.irlie

  Shoestring Scrapbook

  For photos of Pandora in the Farenze, click here.

  Comments:

  Pandora, you look amazing! I can’t wait to wear the dress myself.

  Best, Alex xxx

  Loving the way you’ve accessorized the dress, Shoestring Club. Keep the style tips coming.

  Dublin Fashionista

  Chapter 20

  At lunchtime the following Saturday I’m sitting in the staffroom at Shoestring, flicking through the latest Italian Vogue when my mobile pings. Thinking it’s probably Arietty – I’m styl
ing her in the shop before her reunion this evening – I finish the page before checking it. But when I do it’s not Arietty at all, it’s Ed.

  Can I ring you Jules? it reads

  A ripple of irritation runs up and down my spine. Bloody nerve. I’ve been trying to contact him for weeks.

  ‘Go feck yourself, Ed Powers,’ I mutter under my breath, my fingers typing in

  Absolutely not.

  Seconds later my phone starts ringing. I check the number – yep, Ed. I throw it onto the table where it vibrates around on the wood like a breakdancer. I let it ring out, but then it starts up again. I turn the ringer onto silence and thrust it into the back pocket of my jeans, determined to ignore it. But it fizzes against my buttock, reminding me. I pull it out again and switch it off. I sit there fuming for a few minutes before Lenka walks in the door.

  ‘Ed is on shop phone for you. Says is urgent. He have nerve, yes? Will I tell him go to hell?’

  I nod. ‘Please do, thanks, Lenka.’ She’s clearly up to date on my Ed woes. Must have been Bird or Pandora. Probably Bird. She loves telling anyone who will listen what an idiot he is.

  Lenka comes back a few minutes later. ‘He say unless you speak to him, he arrive at shop. He say if you not talk to him then, he camp in shop until you do.’

  ‘For Feck’s sake.’ I stand up, practically spitting with anger, and follow Lenka to the door.

  ‘Sorry, Lenka,’ I say as I march towards the phone. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

  She shrugs. ‘Men. Drive you crazy, yes?’

  ‘Too right,’ I say.

  She lingers for a second, clearly interested in what I’m about to say to Ed, but I stand there, looking at her and eventually she takes the hint and bounces off towards the coffee shop, her white-blonde ponytail swinging behind her.