Don't You Forget About Me

by Liz Tipping

  “Spots,” she said.

  “Eh?”

  “The main reason I started wearing loads of white make-up was because I had acne at school. It was the only thing that covered it up and stopped people noticing, and then one thing led to another and soon I was full goth with a mop of dyed black hair to hide behind every day. Once I left school, the spots cleared up and I could wear what I liked, which is good because I can’t stand the Sisters of Mercy. Give me Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber any day. But it did the job at the time. I’ve still a few scars, mind, so I still have to have big hair,” she said giving a flick of her curls, smiling and making herself smaller in her seat.

  “Well, I think you look lovely, Liv. And I don’t think you are a basket case at all. And you were a very pretty goth. I wish I’d been a goth. Or something.”

  Liv smiled shyly and shrunk even further down behind her computer before popping up and brightly saying, “Well this is the thing about school isn’t it? No one’s who they think they are. Hey, do you want me to goth you up?”

  “Erm…” While I had thought about trying to see if some Ally Sheedy eyeliner was my thing, I wasn’t sure about going full goth.

  “I can’t, Liv, I have all these jobs to apply for,” I said. Before the shop had opened, I’d already filled in two application forms and contacted a number of agencies. There was an assistant events job in a stately home nearby and an agency in Worcester had advertised a receptionist job with responsibility for events. It was in Penarth, near Cardiff, not far from where the hotel chain was. It came with live-in accommodation and the start date was soon – the week after the party.

  “Come on, it will be a laugh,” said Liv, giggling.

  “Go on then,” I said.

  Liv rifled through her make-up bag and pulled out loads of eyeliners and some white colour correction cream and highlighter.

  “I tend to go for more neutral colours now,” she said and winked. She got out of her chair and offered it to me and I sat down.

  Ten minutes later, she showed me my reflection in her mirror. She’d made my face so pale by covering it in Touché Éclat and face powder, and had drawn on some ridiculous dark eyebrows and used an eyeliner to colour my lips black. Once I had gotten over the shock, I laughed so much I was shaking. There was no way I was going to be a weird goth basket case. If I turned up to the ball like this, they’d think I’d gone in fancy dress.

  “Ooh, hang on a bit,” she said before grabbing some liquid eyeliner and painting on my face. “Finishing touches.” She showed me the mirror again when she’d finished.

  “Liv!” She’d drawn a huge pretend Frankenstein scar on my head. I didn’t look like I was a goth and instead looked like I was going to a Halloween party. Perhaps it was time to give the whole finding my subculture a rest. I screamed laughing and so did Liv when the shop bell rang and in walked the owner, Alan.

  “Having fun girls?” he said.

  “We’re just…” I started. I should have kept my mouth shut because me talking had attracted attention to myself and Alan was now staring at the pretend eyeliner scar on my head.

  “…doing a Halloween promotion.”

  “In May? I see,” he said. “Well, you’ll need to do a lot more than that, girls. Sorry to tell you but I’ve had an offer.”

  Liv looked at me with a concerned face. “What kind of offer?” she said.

  “For the building. From a big supermarket. They want to open one of those little convenience branches.”

  I let out a deep breath. It was no surprise the shop would close at some point. Even in Broad Hampton, things had to change. I couldn’t help feeling sad but this was another kick up the backside I needed. If they wanted the building, the flat would go too. I’d have to move on.

  Liv, however, looked on the verge of tears. “Are you definitely going to sell up?” she whimpered.

  “Seriously, girls, I’m looking at having to make a grand a week from here to keep me from selling. Any chance of doing that?”

  “Very much doubt it,” I muttered. We’d barely been taking anything a day. We’d be lucky to make that much in a year the way things were going.

  Liv looked at me with fear in her eyes but then suddenly straightened herself up.

  “Yes!” declared Liv, standing up. “Yes, we can!”

  “I don’t know, Liv. It’s a lot of money.”

  “We can do it,” said Liv. I admired her optimism, but just couldn’t see how this could work out. It was virtually impossible.

  “Righto, then,” said Alan. “I’ll pop back in a week or so and we’ll see what’s happening,” and then he left.

  “How are we going to make that much? A grand a week. There’s no chance. We only took £13.50 last week.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” said Liv. “We just have to use our brains!”

  “I don’t have any brains, Liv, remember. And look, you know I never intended to stay very long. Maybe it’s time to move on. For both of us.”

  “Please, Cara, we have to try,” said Liv. “I can’t lose my job, I just can’t…” And she started to cry. Her filling up made me get teary too.

  “Come on, Liv, we’ll think of something. We could just do with having someone clever on the team.”

  Liv pulled out her Tupperware box of cakes that she made for us most Mondays.

  “Early elevenses,” she said, offering me a piece of ginger cake.

  I took one absentmindedly and for many minutes we sat there eating cakes. Liv didn’t stop crying and soon her make-up looked worse than mine.

  “Who do we know who is brainy? Who can come up with ideas?”

  Then in walked Derek from next door.

  “Ah, cakes, good,” he said, approaching the counter. He took one from Liv’s box without even asking.

  “You look lovely today, Cara.”

  I looked lovely today? Jesus Christ! What was this feminine-haircutted man on about now? Is this what it took to get noticed, I thought, looking like the bride of Frankenstein?

  “Derek,” I said, hurriedly wiping goth make-up off my cheeks, “you’re brainy, aren’t you? We need your help.”

  We explained our predicament to him, while Derek looked thoughtful and played with the end of his university scarf. I was hoping Derek would come up with a great idea. He was the brainiest person we knew after all. But after a good deal of umming and ahhing and running his fingers through his womanly hair, he raised a finger as if reacting to an idea. This was it. Derek, being The Brain that he was, was going to solve our dilemma.

  “Maybe you should buy in some more art films? Italian neorealism ought to do the trick.”

  Art films. Who round here wanted to rent any videos, let alone art films?

  “Is that it?” I said, spluttering out and totally wasting Liv’s lovely cake.

  “Yes. I think you’ll find you’ll do a roaring trade,” he said as he left the shop.

  As if, I thought. Maybe Derek wasn’t a brain at all. It just went to show, if you go around acting a particular way, then people believe it. Derek was no more brainy than I was.

  “Well, so much for Derek using his brainpower,” I said.

  Liv stared at me in disbelief and said, “You know he goes to an actual ladies’ hairdresser’s don’t you?”

  *

  I popped into the club at lunchtime to see if Verity could help me come up with any ideas.

  “The pirate DVD thing,” said Verity, energetically polishing the brass on the bar. “You should totally do that.”

  “I don’t think criminal activity is for me,” I said. “I’ll think of something. I can be a brain if I want.”

  Stubbs was making his way down to the bingo hall, ready to call the numbers. “You’re going to be brainy now?” he said, walking over.

  “I am,” I said, proudly, feeling confident I could think of something.

  The doors of the club swung open and in breezed April, clutching what I assumed were tickets for the ball.

&nbs
p; “Hi, everyone!” She held Stubbs’s full attention as he stared at her open-mouthed. She swished past with her swishy top on and her shiny hair and her legs that didn’t end. She was wearing white trousers. She might as well have walked into the bar in slow motion. And she smelled so lovely, like spring or summer. She passed me by, barely acknowledging me, and went to open the hatch behind the bar. “Okay if I leave these here?”

  Verity shrugged.

  April touched Stubbs on the arm and said, “Thanks, honey, have to dash now.” Honey, indeed. And then she breezed out again. White trousers! That’s how effortlessly cool April Webster was. She could put on white trousers on a Monday morning and still have them pristine by lunchtime.

  Two of the bingo ladies poked their heads round the door, beckoning Stubbs.

  “Any chance of a game of bingo then? We’re paying customers after all.”

  One of the women addressed me and said, “We’re regulars you know.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. “I’m a regular too.”

  “Oh right, love, never seen you in here before,” she said.

  “I did the quiz last week?” I said.

  The woman shook her head and the corners of her mouth turned down. This was just what I meant when I said no one ever noticed me.

  “I was on your team?” I said.

  This woman looked at me blankly and clearly had no recollection of who I was at all. How was I ever going to get Daniel Rose to notice me when my quiz team member Betty didn’t.

  “She’s only messing about, Cara,” said Stubbs.

  “She’s not,” I protested, only half joking. “No one ever notices me.”

  Stubbs drew in a breath and looked for a moment as though he was going to say something, but then after a few seconds, he shook his head. He knew how insignificant I’d felt at school.

  “It’s this again, is it?” he said.

  “Well it never changes.”

  “You’re just focusing on the wrong moments, Cara. Like always.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “All these moments you’ve stored up in your head. And you’ve picked the wrong ones. The times you were teased, the times when no one noticed you, the time Daniel didn’t ask you out? What about all the good stuff you’ve done? All the good times you’ve had?”

  I was silent for a moment but Stubbs was right. Maybe this was why I wanted to spend time talking about fictional moments in films, those split seconds when everything is perfect, because I didn’t have enough of my own. And it was also why I wanted a job where I’d create those moments for other people. It had never occurred to me that I’d had moments like that of my own and now I needed to create more. Seeing me deep in thought, and probably wondering if he’d upset me, Stubbs came closer to me.

  “Look,” he said, quietly, “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just don’t want you focusing on the past and thinking you’re invisible. Because you’re not. You’re totally not. Not to me anyway.”

  He always said the right things.

  “Thank you, Stubbs,” I said.

  “Right, see you later then. No more moping, yeah?” Giving me a slap on the arm, he went off to call his bingo numbers.

  Chapter Six

  Tuesday in the shop went by with me applying for jobs and sending off my CV and both me and Liv trying to come up with ideas to turn the shop around. In the afternoon, my thoughts turned to Daniel Rose and so I decided to google him. I came across one photo of him on Facebook. His hair was shorter now, and he looked like he had filled out a bit, but he still had those same mesmerising eyes. My stomach flipped with a combination of nerves and excitement and cringing about the past and what happened at school. I showed a picture of him to Liv who agreed he was hot.

  “It’s nice outside,” said Liv.

  I peeked up from my laptop. “Yeah, it’s not too bad is it? Shall we take the chairs out?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Liv. “Maybe we can come up with some ideas of how to not be jobless while we are at it.”

  Whenever it was a nice day, which was occasionally, and whenever we didn’t have any customers, which was always, we wheeled the trolley that had the little telly and video on it out the back and put our chairs out in the big car park and watched films. We’d already decided the next film in the list was Spacehunter. It was a compromise as Liv wanted to watch something space-shippy and I didn’t mind because it had Molly Ringwald in it.

  I didn’t pay much attention to it as I was wondering what my next attempt at being somebody could be. I clearly wasn’t cut out to be an athlete, and I had decided I didn’t want to pursue the intellectual life, which meant I couldn’t be a brain. I feared I may end up being a basket case. The next option was criminal.

  “Liv, if you were going to commit a crime, what would you choose?”

  Olivia grabbed the remote and pressed pause just as Molly Ringwald was being whisked up into the air by some kind of space monster.

  “What are you on about now?” she said annoyed I had interrupted her space film.

  “That’s all that’s left: basket case and criminal. Princess is out,” I said worrying again about what I’d have to say about what I did at the reunion. “I just don’t want anyone to ignore me, Liv. I want to be something. I need to try again to find a job that makes me happy. One where there’s little moments of magic.”

  “So would you prefer the notoriety of being up in court for armed robbery? That would certainly get you noticed.”

  “I wouldn’t rob a bank. I could be like a criminal mastermind or whatever. Although a bank robbery would help us get the grand a week we needed to keep the shop open.”

  “Criminal mastermind?” Liv tutted and pressed play on the video. “Just be the Molly Ringwald one.”

  She was right. I could be anything I wanted to be. I could be the Molly Ringwald one if I wanted to be and have sushi for lunch. Anyone could eat sushi these days, so I went over to Boots and got us some sushi for lunch.

  Liv shovelled in her sushi lunch and looked at me quizzically. With her mouth half full she said, “Aren’t you eating that?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t really like fish, Liv, to be honest. And I’m not that keen on rice either.”

  “You’re useless,” she said snatching my lunch away from me. We watched the video and then I announced I was off to Pat’s house.

  Every few days, I went to Prefab Pat’s house to drop her some films, as she couldn’t get out of the house these days. She was pretty much our last regular customer. Sometimes she roped me into doing little jobs for her while I was there and I didn’t mind as it meant less time spent in the shop, being bored. This particular afternoon she had me taking rollers out of her hair.

  After I had taken the last of them out and ran the comb through, I sat down and sipped the tea Pat had made me. I looked around the living room at the photographs on the wall. She had lots of those bleached-out fashionable portraits of her family and I imagined they were taken in some trendy studio and given as gifts to Pat. They didn’t sit comfortably in the old wooden frames against the faded floral wallpaper. On a sideboard were more photographs more fitting for Pat’s house. Among her wedding photographs, next to one of her husband in his national service uniform, there was one of Pat dancing and smiling, her hair styled in a beehive.

  I stared at the photograph of Pat, her eyes crinkled as she laughed at the camera while her partner spun her around lifting the full skirts of a beautiful polka dot dress.

  “You look lovely in this photo, Pat. I love your dress! I need a dress like that for a school reunion that I’m going to. Then people would notice me!”

  “A school reunion?” she said. “How lovely. When is it?”

  “Not long enough away. I’m not sure I fancy going anyway. There will be lots people who I don’t fancy seeing and besides I haven’t got anything to wear and I’ve got too much to do.” I was starting to talk myself out of going. I did feel like I had lots to do. As well as ap
plying for jobs, I’d also have to look for somewhere to live if the shop sale went ahead.

  “I’ve got something you can wear,” Pat said, suddenly and headed off to her bedroom.

  I gasped and started to protest. “Pat, I couldn’t possibly…” If Pat gave me this dress, I could definitely channel my inner Molly Ringwald.

  She wagged her finger to shush me, gave me a knowing smile and shuffled off. I stood up quickly and lunged towards the sideboard. I grabbed the photograph with both hands and studied it, impatiently wondering what colour it was. A pastel colour, I reckoned, maybe with white polka dots, but it was hard to tell from the sepia photo. Pink, maybe. Maybe it was pink. I held my breath.

  “Here you go, pet.” Pat emerged from the bedroom.

  She tugged on a black plastic hanger in a crumpled and faded Tesco carrier bag and with one final yank, held it aloft and beamed proudly. “This will suit you down to a tee. I got it in Bonmarché last year.”

  I was crushed. I think she could sense my disappointment as I surveyed the garish navy blue Crimplene dress. It was a monstrosity.

  “Oh don’t worry, love. I haven’t worn it. It’s just as good as new.” She fiddled with the ostentatious gold, oversized buttons.” It was something I imagined that a very fat cross-dressing sailor might wear on his day off.

  “Well, I don’t really know what to say, Pat.” I knew what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was ‘Why on God’s earth would anyone in their right mind want to wear that abomination to mankind?’

  “I’ve got a bag that will match it,” she offered excitedly as she passed me the dress, which was four sizes too big.

  “No, it’s fine, Pat. You’ve done more than enough. I’d love to have it.” And then I added a “Thanks. Thank you. Thanks.”

  “Shall we call it a fiver then?” she asked.

  “Five pounds?” I couldn’t believe she wanted me to give her money for this.

  “A woman at the car boot was going to give me £4.50 for it. But I said no. It’s never been worn.”

  “Okay. Okay,” I said. I scrabbled round in my purse for the money. I had £4.78 in change and a ten-pound note. She agreed to let me off with the spare twenty-two pence. Until next time.